


A Child Across the Sky

by orphan_account



Series: Mulder Torture [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, BAMF Dana Scully, Bad Parenting, Depression, F/M, Fox Mulder Angst, Fox Mulder Torture, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Mystery, Paranoia, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Mulder seemingly goes off the rails, it's up to Scully to track him and she begins to learn that a case they hadn't solved had more of an impact on Mulder than Scully had originally thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted by an anonymous user on [here.](http://emergencyroom.xphilefic.com/)
> 
> Full credit belongs to the designated owner.

It shouldn't have happened. The rain-slicked roads which had given rise to several accidents throughout the day were drying off as the rain dissipated. If only she had gotten more sleep the night before. If only he weren't angry at something that had happened at home. If only either of them had seen the man staggering out from the underbrush, one side of his face bruised and bloodied, clothes dirty and tattered, eyes glazed with fear, horror in whatever it was that had happened to him. If only either of them had been paying attention, it could have been avoided.

Her brakes locked as she screamed. She was thrown viciously forward, the seatbelt of the older car not holding her. Her forehead cracked the windshield as she slumped, unconscious. The car skidded slightly, shuddered, then plowed into his car. Fortunately, he had an airbag. Unfortunately, he hadn't buckled his seatbelt. His broken body lay pinned as his car took off the front of the other car.

The fire exploded into a ball of fury and consumed both cars. The man, already badly injured, already knocked off his feet by the crumpled bumper of a car, could only watch helplessly and cover his head as the fire burned. He coughed, his ragged throat swelling as he breathed in the fumes. He should get up. _I should get up,_ he thought dazedly. _I should go...where?_ He looked up. The flames were getting closer. The two cars were blackened husks. He rubbed his eyes. Something was moving. Something was alive. The man somehow staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the searing pain that shot through his leg. He limped forward, eyes on the movement ahead of him.

It was a woman. He couldn't believe it. She was walking towards him, unmindful of the carnage. The fire didn't bother her. She didn't even notice it. He stared at her as she approached. She appeared completely unharmed by the accident.

"Are you all right?" he shouted hoarsely. She smiled at him, a knowing, half-smile that make him shudder. An alarm in his brain went off. Run. Away. But he couldn't. He was riveted.

"Who are you?" he said as she got closer. She stopped and looked deeply into his eyes.

"I have come for you," she whispered. He stepped backwards, on his guard.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"Who are YOU?" she inquired pleasantly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. She should be covered in soot, at the very least, but she stood before him, pristine in a dark green dress and cloak. Her hair was covered by the green hood, which he would've thought odd if he had been of sound mind. Her blue eyes bored through his. He had to get away.

"That's right, run. Run as far as you can. But it won't matter."

She moved sideways, almost shimmering. Suddenly she was somebody else. A young girl, whose trusting gaze met his. He stared at her. The girl frightened him more than the woman.

"You can't run away," the girl's high voice said. He had to touch her. He reached out a shaky hand but the girl spun and disappeared. The woman glared severely at him.

"None of that," she scolded. He wanted to cry. His shoulders slumped.

"Why won't you tell me who you are?" he asked softly.

"You'll know soon enough," she said. And with that, she was gone. The man was left standing, shell-shocked, in front of a massive accident with two dead drivers. That alarm in his head told him that he shouldn't be caught here. Wincing, he turned and limped back away from the road.

* * *

He remembered the light -- intense, blinding, dazzling light. He saw it, thought about it, processed it. Suddenly, that dim part of his brain that was responsible for self-preservation remarked to the other, more crucial parts of his brain that the light was not only growing brighter but was also accompanied by a rumbling and loud honking. His eyes shot open and he had enough presence of mind to fling himself out of the way of the semi, which roared past him, the winds ruffling his hair and the closeness making him shake. The truck rumbled to a halt, the cab door opened, and a figure hopped down and raced towards him, John Deere cap protecting him from the driving rain. The figure slowed as it got closer and he could make out a short but well-built man, peering at him anxiously.

"Hey, buddy, you okay? I didn't hit you, did I? God, are you okay?"

He had stopped shaking and was now shivering. He managed to pull himself to his knees and he stared dazedly at the trucker.

"I --" he croaked, "You didn't hit me."

The trucker sagged in relief. He knelt down, oblivious of the rain.

"How'd you get out here in the middle of nowhere? You need some help?"

The man wanted more than anything to accept the trucker's offer of help, but a part of him that he couldn't recognize, couldn't put his finger on, told him that this would be a mistake. He slowly got to his feet and stood, swaying. The trucker caught him as he fell.

"You're in bad shape, my friend. Come on, I'll give you a ride to town."

The man stiffened in terror and all senses screamed at him to run, but his battered body wouldn't comply. Nearly helpless, he let the truckersettle him into the cab of the truck. The trucker handed him a thermos of coffee.

"Here. You gotta get something hot in ya. Name's Clem. What's yours?"

He stared at Clem, uncomprehending. Clem frowned as he pulled back out  
onto the interstate.

"Your name, buddy. Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

"No," he said quickly, "no hospital. I'm fine. I just..." His voice trailed off as he realized that he had no clue what lie to tell. Clem's concern for the dazed man was growing. He desperately needed help, Clem thought as the man began coughing. A deep cut on the man's forehead had opened up again and oozed blood. The man's complexion was pale with shock and illness. It was obvious that the man hadn't eaten in days, weeks maybe, and the dull look in his eyes indicated fever. But Clem somehow knew that this man wouldn't accept his help.

"Where are we?" the man asked quietly. Startled, Clem looked at him. He'd been positive that the man had either passed out or fallen asleep. He'd finished the coffee and a little color had come back to his cheeks.

"Central Valley," Clem answered. The man cocked his head.

"Central valley of what?" he asked innocently. _Shit_, Clem thought. _Maybe I oughta just club him on the head so he passes out so I can get him some help._

"California," Clem said cautiously, watching for the man's reaction out of the corner of his eye. The rain had stopped, thankfully. Clem had avoided a bullet when the rain had cleared away the Tule fog, but the five solid hours of storms had made Clem's wishes seem like a bad thing. The man nodded matter-of-factly to Clem's answer, like he was neither surprised nor shocked to find himself in California. Clem had been driving almost all of his life, and there was no California in the man's accent. Back East, possibly. Clem gave himself a mental shake and made a note to see if the guy had any ID. He wanted to help him, sure, but what if he were dangerous? Or wanted? That gave Clem an idea and fortuitously, his favorite greasy spoon was just up the road. He signaled and carefully took the off-ramp, hoping that it didn't look like he'd suddenly made the decision.

"Where are we going?" the man asked. Damn, but he was a sharp one! That made Clem even more nervous. The guy was sick and hurt but he was also somewhat paranoid. Clem was beginning to think that being a good Samaritan wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"I been on the road for hours," Clem said with practiced casualness, "thought it'd be nice to get some chow. You hungry?" The man stared at Clem for a long moment and Clem flinched. The man's gaze was penetrating the very depths of his soul. Clem tried to think about a mess of scrambled eggs, some bacon, and strong coffee, hoping the man would just see that he was hungry. Finally the man nodded, satisfied.

"Sounds good. Um --" the man broke off, embarrassed as he searched his pockets. Clem shrugged, somewhat relieved that the man didn't have any money. Couldn't be a bank robber or a thief is he didn't have any money.

"Forget it, friend. It's on me," Clem said easily. The man looked so grateful that it was pathetic. Clem stepped out of the cab, hustling over to the passenger side as the man crumpled to the ground. He grinned a wry grin as Clem helped him to his feet.

"Farther down than it looked," the man said, not a trace of irony in his voice. Clem felt a pang of sympathy.

"They got great eggs here," he said as he started to sling the man's arm around his shoulders. The man shook his head and made a conscious attempt to stand on his own. He was paler, but fairly steady as they walked into the diner.


	2. Chapter 2

Clem wolfed down his meal and tried to avoid watching the man pick at his. It was obvious that he needed food, that he hadn't eaten in days, but Clem couldn't force him. Madeleine, now, she'd make this guy eat.

"Having a wonderful time, wish you were her," the man mumbled absently. Clem almost blew eggs out of his nose. The man looked at him, a crooked grin on his face. He'd cleaned himself up some and washed the blood and dirt off his face. He looked almost presentable now, although the waitress had looked at him with that motherly concern women get. Clem almost felt jealous at the attention. He got the feeling that his companion received this type of attention a lot. Since the man was obviously a lot less disoriented now, Clem felt that it was high time to try and get some answers.

"So..." Clem began, then stopped. He had no idea what to ask. The man didn't remember his name, didn't remember how he'd gotten to California, where he was from, or if he was in any trouble. Clem couldn't very well come out and ask him for his ID. He probably didn't have any on him anyway. He didn't have a jacket, he'd obviously been wearing his clothes for weeks and he had no luggage.

_Yep,_ Clem thought, he was definitely on the run. Maybe he was a secret agent, a spy, running for his life. Like The Fugitive, Clem's favorite show next to The Prisoner. Maybe he WAS Number 6. He'd escaped and -- Clem gave himself a mental shake. The man was staring at him, somewhat bemused, as if he'd been reading Clem's thoughts. That ticked Clem off. _Fuck off_, he thought rudely. The man's expression didn't waver. _This guy is whip-smart_, Clem decided. _He's been reading me ever since I shoved him into the rig. He doesn't belong on the road, running from whatever it is he's running from_. Clem gave up all pretense of being the sly investigator. This guy would just see right through him.

"Look, you're obviously in some kind of trouble and I want to help, I really do. If there's anyone I can call, I'll be happy to. I could poke around a bit, find out if..." Shit. Blew it again. The man took a small sip of coffee but still hadn't touched his eggs.

"If I'm wanted, you mean?" the man asked. Clem thought about denying it but gave up. It wouldn't do him any good.

"Uh, yeah," Clem said reluctantly. The man grinned again.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but..." the man hesitated, frowning. Clem leaned forward. The man once again gone pale as he looked out the window of the diner. Clem followed his gaze. There was nothing out there. The man's breaths were coming faster now and he was in danger of hyperventilating. Clem looked around. The scattered truckers were staring. Clem leaned forward.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked. The man's fevered gaze was locked on something invisible. He was gasping for breath, muttering at the same time. Shit. He was freaking out. Drug addict. Clem hadn't counted on that. Tentatively, Clem reached out and touched the man's sleeve. He jerked back violently, swinging his wild gaze towards Clem. Clem quickly slid out of the booth, scared to death.

"There's nothing out there! What's the matter with you? What's wrong?" Clem said nervously. The man blinked, very slowly, then sagged against the booth, looking worse than ever. Clem chanced a look around. Everyone had gone back to their meals. Clem warily sat down again, his eyes focused on his companion. The man closed his eyes, his chin sagging to his chest. Clem was about to get up and just call the damned police when the man looked up, clear-eyed once more. He turned and looked outside, through the rain, for what felt like eternity.

"You can't come in here," he said softly. Clem looked outside once more. He shook his head in frustration. Nothing. He looked at the man.

"Okay, look. You're on something, and --"

"No drugs," the man interrupted.

"I'm not giving you any, you crazy cuss, it's obvious that you're on something," Clem said angrily. This guy was definitely NOT user-friendly.

"I'm not on anything," the man said loudly," I can assure you of that."

"Yeah? How come you can't assure me of anything else, like your name, where you're from, how you got here?" Clem said, still miffed. The man shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered, "I don't know who I am. I just know certain...things...about myself...images..." The man looked out the window again, and Clem again felt that pang of sympathy.

"Look, buddy," he said softly," I wanna help you, I really do, but I got a load to deliver. I can either drop you at the sheriff's, the hospital, or you can ride along with me to the end of my route."

The man looked down at his congealed breakfast and sighed.

"You've done enough. Thank you." The man slid slowly out of the booth.

"Hey, where ya gonna go?" Clem asked, alarmed. The man turned.

"The way I was going, I suppose," he said softly.

"At least ride with me," Clem said. The man smiled slightly, then shook his head.

"I don't want to get you involved," he said.

"In what?" Clem asked, puzzled. The man shook his head.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but I know there's something..." The man paused, tilted his head as if something had just occurred to him He leaned down close to Clem, looking him in the eye.

"I have some advice for you," he said. Clem nodded slowly, mesmerized by this man's focused gaze.

"Trust no one," the man whispered. Clem stared as Fox Mulder straightened up and slowly, carefully made his way out of the diner.

* * *

**Office of the X-Files  
Federal Bureau of Investigation  
Washington DC**

Dana Scully held her breath as the fax machine beeped. Assistant Director Skinner hovered just behind her, seemingly even more on edge than she was. Scully wanted to slug him. The curled paper slowly and tantalizingly pushed through the machine. Scully said a quick prayer, reached out and was soon staring into the haggard face of her partner. Mulder. My God. Wordlessly, she handed the fax to Skinner, heard the sharp intake of his breath. The room began to spin and Scully sank into the nearest chair.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said softly. Scully squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore the image, to ignore the present. Skinner touched her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively. Scully nodded, eyes still shut. She was all right. She was always all right. She could handle anything. Scully drew a deep breath and stood, turning to face Skinner. She steeled herself as she took the fax from his hand. Mulder's mug shot stared out at her. His mug shot. Christ. He looked horrible, drawn and pale, haunted. Even through the grainy fax his eyes were deep pools of emotion. They screamed at her, through her. Scully's hand began to tremble again. _Shut it off. Stop it. This isn't going to help him. It won't help you either, for that matter_. Skinner watched and waited for Scully to pull herself together. A soft sigh escaped her and she drew herself up tall, squaring her shoulders. Skinner smiled inwardly. He met her level gaze.

"He didn't do it."

Skinner sighed. She was going to fight him. He should expect it, of course. Hell, he didn't believe it, either. But there was all that evidence, and Scully was, above all else, a scientist. Mulder's gun with Mulder's fingerprints. Witnesses. And Fox William Mulder, right in the middle of it all. Skinner gently took the fax away again, folded it in quarters, and put it in his pocket. He needed Scully on this one, needed her in one piece, no matter what the outcome. If Mulder had done it, he needed Scully to help him figure out why. And if he hadn't...then he had been set-up, and Scully was the only other person in his division who knew what that meant. Scully could get to Ben...Skinner stopped that line of thinking. When the day came that he needed Ben, then Walter Skinner had lost control. And it was too early for that.

"Agent Scully, look at the evidence. It would be an open and shut case --"

"If Mulder hadn't run," Scully finished. Skinner nodded. If Mulder hadn't somehow escaped from the small county jail in Colorado. If and only if...then Skinner wouldn't have to give these orders to Scully.

"He's a felon, Scully. He's running from the law. All the evidence points to the fact that he killed two people in cold blood, bashed a deputy over the head and nearly killed him, in his fervor to escape. You haven't seen him in a week."

"That's right, Sir, I haven't. And neither have you. We don't know what happened, what..." Scully stopped, her throat suddenly constricting. _Fuck, Mulder, what's going on? Why haven't you called? Where are you?_ Scully's vision blurred but she angrily kept her tears in check, reminding herself that they were as much tears of frustration as tears of concern, of pain, of weakness.

"But we need to find him," Skinner gently reminded her, "and I hate to do this, I really do..."

Scully stared at him, disbelieving.

"You are NOT going to take me off this case!" she said incredulously.

Skinner shook his head quickly.

"No, of course not. But you have to understand, Scully, this is a Bureau matter now..." Skinner could barely finish. The irony of it all left him cold, so cold. It shouldn't have to be like this...but Skinner was so afraid that Mulder HAD been set-up that he felt rushed, like he had to get to Mulder before THEY did. He looked at Scully. He didn't have to finish. She was staring at him, hatred in her eyes. They were so close, he reminded himself, to imagine that Mulder had gone off the rails was one thing, but to think that he was a cold-blooded murderer who needed --

"You're assigning another agent," Scully said in that icy deadly voice. Skinner nodded wearily, waiting for the flood. Scully slammed her fist into the desk and Skinner jumped. He knew what Scully was feeling right now. He'd had to do it before, long ago, with Ben, and it didn't feel good. It wasn't right to have to change everything you felt and believed in one fell swoop, but he didn't have a choice.

"Scully, the brass feels like we have to make a move here. If we don't, Mulder doesn't have a chance."

"But I know him better than anyone else, and there's a good chance that nobody can find him but me!" Scully said angrily. Skinner nodded again.

"I know. But you of all people has to face the fact that maybe --" Skinner hesitated, "-- maybe Mulder's not the same person anymore." Scully turned away abruptly, staring sightlessly at her computer. She turned her back on Mulder's desk, on his disorganized side of the office. _Maybe Mulder's not the same person anymore. Why am I the only one who has any faith in him!_ Scully thought furiously. _He's in trouble. He's..._

Scully remembered the case, the last one they'd worked on. The one they hadn't solved. She remembered Mulder's sweaty, ashen face as he stammered FBI rhetoric at the devastated parents of five-year-old Sallie Mott. She remembered Mulder's face crumple, the way he curled up in the passenger seat of the car as she desperately tried to get him to talk to her. And she remembered the sobs that she wasn't supposed to hear, all the anguish of a lifetime tearing into him. Scully bit her lip, cursing herself. She hadn't seen it, not really. Why this case affected him so much remained a mystery. But he'd been fine the next day, a little withdrawn, a little quiet, not really up to the usual Mulder banter...he'd been fine, and Scully had accepted it. And then he was gone, and now this.

She needed to figure out why he'd run off, what had happened to him during the Mott investigation that ripped him apart. And she needed to do that alone. But she also realized that Skinner was under as much pressure as she was and that he wouldn't screw her. He couldn't. Could he? Scully stared at him for a long moment. Should she trust him?

Actually, the problem wasn't so much trusting Skinner but trusting those she didn't even know. Trusting the men in the shadows who would kill Mulder or embrace him. She just never knew...but if she caused any trouble at all, she was certain that Skinner would bench her. And that couldn't happen. She turned back to Skinner.

"Who's the agent?" she asked quietly. Skinner sagged slightly, grateful to see Scully, at least, in one piece.

"Will Orsatti," Skinner said. Scully frowned. Skinner went on, slightly embarrassed. "A psychologist. He went through the National Academy program and...he needs this for his record. He's being recruited by ISU --" Skinner stopped, aware of the implications. He didn't think Scully needed to hear this right now, but her mouth twisted into a gruesome smile.

"He sounds like Spooky Mulder," she said slowly. Skinner nodded, suddenly needing to get out of this fucking basement. It was stifling in here. Scully read his mind.

"Send him down, would you, when he's ready. We should get on this as soon as possible," Scully said crisply. Skinner nodded and without a backwards glance, turned and left the office. Scully let out a breath, sat down, and desperately craved a cigarette. She made do with some lukewarm coffee, then she turned on her computer and went to work, trying to reconstruct everything that had happened during the Mott case.


	3. Chapter 3

**August 17th  
North of Redding, California**

Mulder splashed the cold creek water on his face, resisting the urge to dunk his head in. It was cold outside and getting colder. Mulder coughed. Besides, he was already sick. He stared at his reflection in the creek, trying desperately to remember something, anything. Even his own face looked alien to him. His eyes looked haunted, like they had seen the ultimate horror and would never look upon the world in the same way again. He shuddered and dried his face on his sleeve. What he wouldn't give for a shower.

His leg may not be broken but it sure hurt like hell. No matter how much it hurt, though, Mulder knew that he had to keep going. He had to get to the top of this damned mountain. Maybe if he knew why, the trip would be more tolerable. There was something inside Mulder, urging him forward, pushing him to some end. _ Preferably an end that is in my best interest_, he thought dryly. Even the pit of pain in his chest wasn't as bad as the stabbing pain in his leg. Mulder passed the time by identifying the different pains in his body. It took about twenty minutes.

He began to weaken almost immediately. The temperature was really dropping out here and Mulder turned and blindly crashed through the trees.

The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen. Mulder hesitated, but she grinned cheerfully, reached over and opened the passenger door of the old Ford pick-up.

"Come on, cowboy, I won't bite," she said. Mulder shrugged and slowly limped towards the truck. He nearly collapsed but managed to pull himself in. The girl looked at him with concern.

"Shit, you don't look too good. You sick?" she asked. Mulder nodded through another coughing fit. He hadn't wanted to move towards the road but he knew that he couldn't spend another night in the forest. His cough was dangerously bad and his leg was even worse. The girl shifted the truck into gear, applied the gas, and the truck jerked forward. Mulder winced. She looked at him.

"Sorry," she said. "I ain't been doing this too long. What's your name?"

Mulder sighed. She didn't seem to notice.

"Mine's Abby May Hartley. You can just call me Abby, though. Only Dex and Doyle call me Abby May. Sounds hick, don't it?" Mulder shrugged.

"It's a nice name," he said quietly. It was stifling in the truck and Mulder was having a hard time getting air. He rolled the window down. That didn't help. Abby took a corner on two wheels, one eye on Mulder.

"You gonna die on me, Mister?" she asked fearfully. Mulder gave her a wan smile and shook his head, trying to breathe. What in the hell was wrong with him? Fluid in the lungs, some unanswerable part of him said. He tried to stay calm, tried to breathe slowly, wheezing.

* * *

**An office  
Washington DC**

He breathed the shadows. Sometimes he liked to think that he was a wraith, able to come and go by the shadows. It made him careful. It made him cautious. His hard eyes glinted with distaste at the young man in front of him. He didn't like these...people. He only used them in extreme cases, and this had certainly been one. He'd never had to reprimand one before and if the truth be known, he was rather nervous about the whole thing. The man didn't move, didn't twitch, apparently didn't breathe. He awaited his punishment, even if it meant murder. His life for a mistake. What did it matter to the men in the shadows? The wraith spoke.

"You have made a grave error." His harsh voice was raspy, threatening. The young man inclined his head, eyes still blank, devoid of even the fear  
of self-preservation.

"I understand, Sir. I had no idea that the subject would react in this manner."

"Indeed," the wraith said wryly.

"It would give me great pleasure to acquire the target once more."

The wraith smiled coldly. 

"I'm sure it would. But I believe you should count yourself lucky that you still have your health," he said easily. The young man frowned, the first display of emotion yet.

"The target is null and void. It is irrelevant now."

"My job --"

"Is over," the wraith said with finality. "You have failed. The target is no more. We are a careful people and we do not right wrongs with more wrongs. You have your assignment. I suggest you leave this room with no further argument."

The young man nodded crisply, turned eloquently on his heel, and disappeared soundlessly. The wraith sighed. He hadn't felt good about this assignment. It was too gaudy, too out on the open. Too many people had their eyes on the prize and although it would give him great pleasure to snatch it out from underneath the noses of others, this was not to be the time. He didn't like dealing with the young man and his cohorts, but at least he could trust them. The emotionless were very trustworthy.

* * *

**August 17th  
North of Redding, California**

The truck slammed to a halt and Mulder jolted awake. Abby May Hartley bounded out of the truck and ran up to the door of a dilapidated cabin, screaming at the top of her lungs. Mulder wheezed, wishing that he'd stayed unconscious. The door to the cabin slammed and Abby emerged with an enormous man. She half-dragged him to the truck and he peered at Mulder, then smacked Abby upside the head.

"He ain't dead," the man said scornfully. Abby's eyes widened as she saw Mulder looking at her. Her big blue eyes filled with tears and she flung her arms around his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. Mulder's wheezing got worse. The enormous man pried Abby's skinny arms off Mulder's neck and opened the passenger door.

"Shit, you a mess," he proclaimed. "Let's get you in the house."

Mulder could hardly protest. The enormous man slung Mulder's arm around his neck and carried him into the cabin, Abby clinging to Mulder's other arm. He rather gently deposited Mulder on a threadbare sofa and then pulled up a chair. He sat down and looked Mulder over.

"Abby May, call Doc Hardin. Tell him we got a guy with some kinda leg injury and he can't breathe."

The frightened Abby nodded and dashed out of the cabin. Mulder's fevered gaze rested on the man. 

"I --" he croaked. The man glared at him.

"You shut up, you hear? Shit, Abby May's gonna have to run two miles to get the Doc and she'll kill me if you die on me fore she gets back. I'm Doyle, by the way. Abby's...uncle," he said by way of introduction. He shook Mulder's limp hand.

"And you don't know who you are, right?" he asked. Mulder's eyes widened. Doyle laughed sharply.

"That Abby May. She can tell shit about people. She tole me you don't belong to yourself anymore," he said. Mulder stared at him. An overwhelming sense of sadness enveloped him. He didn't belong to himself...didn't belong...with that refrain running through his head, Mulder drifted off again.

* * *

Denman's eyes glinted in anger. If the wraith could see him now he'd know that Denman hadn't accepted the order to cease and desist. Denman checked his arsenal and nodded. He had gotten used to the weapons and didn't go anywhere without them anymore. He frowned slightly. His true superiors would find that to be a weakness. Denman pushed that thought out of his mind and began the methodical job of checking flights and bus schedules. 

He should just be able to center in on the target, but the last centering had been disastrous and Denman didn't want to scare the target, just acquire it and destroy it. Denman didn't fail. It wasn't in his make-up, and to be dismissed as a child who had done a bad job just simply made him angry. His orders didn't bother him. The fact that if caught he would be killed didn't bother him. The only thing that mattered was the job. The only thing that mattered was success.

* * *

The room swam into focus. As Mulder's vision cleared, he became slowly aware of a shapely leg, clad in a red cowboy boot, obscuring his view of the room. Abby May. Mulder blinked. The jeans-clad girl of yesterday had been replaced by a seductive young woman. Her blond hair swung in her face as she grinned at him.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly. Mulder licked his dry lips. Instantly, Abby May handed him a glass of water. Mulder drank thirstily.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, voice raspy. Abby considered him for a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

"Doc came and looked at you, gave you some drugs. Doyle's got 'em. That was yesterday. Mulder sighed and closed his eyes. _Yesterday_. Abby leaned forward. Mulder shrank back against the pillows, staggered by this young woman's direct gaze. Her yellow-flecked blue eyes stared into his. She reached out a cool hand and felt his forehead.

"Still warm," she said critically.

"Abby May!" a shout came from the back of the house. Abby sighed and stood gracefully. She turned and looked at Mulder again as Doyle rounded the corner. Doyle was on Abby with two quick strides, pulling her roughly away from Mulder.

"Dammit, Abby May, leave him alone! You want Dex to see you?" he shouted. Abby glared at Doyle and pulled away, fists clenched, standing her ground, Mulder struggled to sit up, self-preservation telling him not to interfere in what he hoped was just a family quarrel and not something more sinister.

"Don't give a shit about Dex," Abby said sulkily. She turned to leave the room. "Don't give a damn about me."

Doyle sighed as Abby stomped out of the house, screen door banging behind her. Doyle switched his gaze to Mulder. He looked worried.

"What?" Mulder asked. Doyle hesitated, then sat down on what passed for the coffee table. He, too, reached out to feel Mulder's forehead.

"Damn," he said softly. Mulder pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the fact that his head began swimming. He made every effort to focus on Doyle.

"What's going on? Do you need me gone?" he asked. Doyle grinned affectionately.  
"Yeah, you leave now and we'll find ya. Ya won't make it a mile up the road fore collapsing."

Mulder was beginning to resent the various diagnoses.

"I'm fine," he said stiffly. Doyle chuckled.

"Uh huh. Look, Dex is gonna be here soon. He's been off gettin' us supplies. Dex is...difficult. He ain't gonna be too happy to see a stranger hanging around."

Mulder swung his legs over the side of the couch.

"I should be going then," he said. The next thing Mulder knew, he was on the floor, wheezing, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Doyle's strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him back onto the couch. Mulder closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Doyle held an inhaler up to his mouth and Mulder was finally able to breathe. He collapsed weakly onto the pillows, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Doyle sighed.

"You in bad shape, cowboy. You ain't going anywhere for at least a couple a days, doc's orders." Doyle hesitated, then looked Mulder in the eye.

"Afore Abby comes back...I gotta know...you lying to me at all?"

Mulder stared at Doyle, perplexed.

"About what?" he asked.

"About...who you are. Or aren't," Doyle replied. Mulder shrugged, suddenly exhausted.

"I honestly wish I could tell you. I wish I knew," he said softly. Doyle shifted nervously.

"Reason I gotta know is...we got us a delicate situation here. And...maybe you should know that the leg wound you got is a bullet wound."

Mulder stared at him, astonished. A bullet wound! His hands began to shake and he forced himself to breathe normally. He'd been shot. And he didn't remember it, not at all. He didn't remember anything before the car accident. And the woman...the woman he'd been seeing in his dreams, the woman who claimed she'd come for him, who terrified him to his very soul. At least I know what I'm afraid of, he thought. He looked at Doyle.

"I don't know," he said flatly. "I just don't know anything. And if it's going to be a problem, me being here, I'll leave as soon as I'm able."

"And where you gonna go?" Doyle asked. Mulder closed his eyes.

"I have something to do. I was drawn here...by something," he answered. Doyle threw up his hands in frustration.

"How can you know that if you don't even know your own name?"

Mulder turned away, unable to answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Abby glared at the house. If Doyle did anything to him...Abby kicked viciously at a rock, sent it skimming into the creek. She hated Doyle with a passion. Doyle reined her in, made her less than she was. Doyle wanted her to learn humility but why should she? Life was more interesting with Dex around, even if he WAS a mean sonofabitch. Dex encouraged her. No matter what Doyle said, Dex would be pleased that she'd picked up the injured man. Fred, she called him in private, after Breakfast At Tiffany's. Abby crossed her arms and redoubled her efforts to glare a hole through the wall. She should be the one giving orders, not Doyle. She was the one the others needed.

"Whatcha doin' out in the woods, honey bunch?"

Abby spun around, a huge smile on her face, and flung her arms around Dex.

"Christ, I thought you'd never get back!"

"Righteous bastard gettin' to ya?" Dex asked. Abby tightened her grip around Dex's neck. His hooded eyes flickered as he hugged her back.

"Yer squishin' the groceries, punkin," he said softly. Abby let Dex go and stepped back. He admired her.

"Yer gettin' to be quite a looker, ain't ya?" he asked. Abby blushed.

"You only been gone for two days, Dex!"

Dex trailed a hand down Abby's arm, making her shiver.

"Don't matter," he answered. Abby stepped back slightly.

"Ain't right, Dex," she murmured. He cocked his head, staring into her eyes. His gaze held hers until he broke the connection.

"You gotta learn how to protect yourself. I ain't always gonna be around."

Abby laughed.

"Surely you don't expect me to believe THAT!"

Dex grinned a wolfish grin and linked arms with Abby.

"Whatcha been doing while I been away? Practice your driving?" he asked. Abby nodded.

"Got a surprise for ya. One you're gonna like," Abby said excitedly.

"Only surprise gonna do me any good is a SSpiker on a stick."

Abby stopped, looked at Dex, eyes shining.

"You got the scent. You got one, didn't ya?"

Dex hefted a grocery bag.

"Whatcha think I got in here?"

Abby laughed, uneasily. With Dex, you never knew. It wouldn't be out of character if Dex brought home a severed head.

* * *

Dex glared furiously at the man lying on the couch. An uneasy Doyle stood off to one side, gauging Dex's reaction, which was none too favorable at the moment. Abby stood just behind Dex, her gaze a little fearful. Mulder watched Dex, suddenly afraid. This man was definitely a loose wire, a remote part of his brain told him. He will do anything to get what he wants and damn anyone who gets in his way. Dex was on the short side, slender, but wiry muscles and a catlike walk belied his size. He was dangerous, and oddly protective of Abby. He treated her like a princess. Mulder tried to look as sick and wan as possible, which really wasn't too difficult. Dex turned to Doyle.

"What in the FUCKING hell is going on here? I leave you alone for two fucking days, you know the drill, you know how important it is to keep Abby May safe, what the FUCKING hell were you fucking THINKING?" Dex shouted. Doyle cowered, eyes lowered. Mulder felt sorry for him. Doyle's eyes slid towards Abby. She studiously ignored him. Mulder started to speak but Dex suddenly had him by the throat. Mulder hadn't even seen him move. Mulder choked as Dex lifted him up.

"I'll fucking kill him right now, Abby, I swear to God, right now in front of you."

True to his word, Dex began to squeeze. Mulder gagged, his hands wrapped around Dex's strong, sinewy wrist. Mulder began to see dark blotches as Dex squeezed the life out of him.

* * *

"Agent Scully?"

Scully turned. A fresh-faced young man, comfortably dressed in the FBI-standard suit and tie, stood at the doorway, an inquiring look on his face. Scully steeled herself and stood, holding out her hand.

"Agent Orsatti," she said. He shook her hand and took the seat she offered, setting his briefcase down by his side. Scully studied him for a moment, trying to hide her dismay. He looked like an English teacher. He looked like Krycek. Scully mistrusted him immediately. Will Orsatti was staring at her quizzically. She smiled.

"Sorry. It's been a long couple of days. I'm not really sure if you can do anything at the moment..." Scully's voice trailed off. Was she so ready to shun any help she might get? Did it matter if the help came from somebody who was adept at profiling killers? Scully wasn't sure but if she didn't cooperate, she was pretty sure that the FBI would kick her off the case and hand it to someone who really did think that Mulder was the enemy. Orsatti cleared his throat, took a file out of his briefcase, and flipped it open.

"I've been reviewing the case," he began in his soft, mild voice, "and I've taken the liberty of writing up a preliminary report."

Scully's eyes narrowed. She remembered being squeaky-clean at one point, but she was never like this. Was she? Should she impress upon the young agent the danger the innuendos of a "preliminary report" had done in the past? He was still talking.

"I delivered a copy to my supervisor this morning --"

"You WHAT?" Scully asked, outraged. Orsatti stared at her and began to stammer.

"Standard procedure, Agent Scully --"

"Let me see it," she growled. This kid was an idiot.

_Preliminary Report  
Case # Eas2387_

_ In the case of the disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder, I have reviewed Mulder's previous case file, that of the disappearance of five-year-old Sallie Mott. In order to ascertain the wherabouts of Agent Mulder and the motivation for his disappearance, I will be assigned to work with Mulder's partner, Agent Dana Scully._

_ I have reviewed both Agent Mulder's and Agent Scully's reports on the Mott case. While Agent Scully denies that Mulder exhibited any unusual behavior during the case, I have interviewed several witnesses to his irrational behavior, including the parents of Sallie Mott, James and Lila Mott._

_ Agent Scully maintains that Agent Mulder remained convinced that Sallie Mott had been abducted by extraterrestrials although the evidence pointed to an earthly abduction. During Agent Mulder's time with VICAP and the Behavioral Science Unit, his intuition regarding abductions and killings, especially of small children, was chillingly accurate. Rarely did a case go unsolved. Many times, Agent Mulder put himself in danger in order to solve a case. This is a quality which has followed him to the X-Files project and which has served him well. Given Agent Mulder's personality type this quality can also be dangerous if Agent Mulder becomes personally attached in any way to the victim or the suspect. Fortunately, Agent Scully has had some success at reining Agent Mulder in. _

_ The difference with the Mott case is two-fold. Agent Mulder became obsessed with the idea that Sallie Mott's father, James Mott, killed his daughter. While Agent Mulder had no evidence with which to hold or charge Mr. Mott, he challenged Mr. Mott at every opportunity and in fact nearly had charges filed against him by the Mott family. Assistant Director Skinner reviewed the case and immediately determined that Agent Mulder did not have enough with which to charge Mr. Mott and in fact had done everything humanly possible to find Sallie Mott. Agent Mulder and his partner were recalled to Washington. Based on previous cases, it is clear that Agent Mulder is having some difficulty reconciling the Mott case and there is every chance that this difficulty has led to his recent problems. Given his past history, it is safe to assume that Agent Mulder presents a danger to himself and the community and should he be found, an intense psychological work-up should be mandatory._

Scully glared at Will Orsatti. He met her accusatory glare calmly.

"I know how you feel --"

"How the hell can you know how I feel? You took my report and Mulder's report and twisted them to suit the Bureau's purpose! You haven't even given Mulder the benefit of the doubt in this case. I know that barely skimmed his report on the Mott case, that you did no research on any of the X-Files cases, and that, like everyone else, you just assumed the worst about him and wrote your report based upon --"

"Agent Scully, please. Give me a minute to explain," Orsatti said. He looked so apologetic that Scully actually shut up, sat back, and gestured for him to continue. Orsatti held up a copy of his report.

"Agent Scully, this is a preliminary report. My supervisor requested this in lieu of anything more...substantial for the moment, hoping to be able to piece together some information on Agent Mulder without..." Orsatti's voice trailed off. 

"Unlike me, Agent Orsatti, you don't give a damn what happens when we DO find him," Scully replied. Orsatti sighed. He'd been warned that Agent Scully might be the slightest bit combative but he had yet to even give her his first impressions of the case. She'd probably pull her gun on him.

"You're right. It's not my problem," he replied honestly. "But if you cooperate with me, be truly honest, I'll do whatever I can to give you the time you need. I'll do what I can, but you've GOT to trust me."

Scully stared at him, hearing her own voice through his. How many times had she said those very words to Mulder? Had she ever meant them, or had they been a last-ditch effort to talk him down from whatever ledge he'd been on? Scully was tired of wondering, of second-guessing what she'd done and trying to follow Mulder's train of thought as she tried to piece together the events that led to his disappearance. Mulder had not called her. Ergo, Mulder was in the kind of trouble that he didn't want Scully involved in. Or...Scully didn't want to think about the alternative. But she had to. And then, it started to make some sort of sense.

"They're going to run him out," she said quietly. Orsatti looked up at her, startled.

"Excuse me?"

"They're going to run him out of the Bureau. And they're going to use you and your Goddammed preliminary report to do it."

Orsatti was absolutely astonished. He looked uncertainly at his report, then back at Scully. She sighed. How could she have been so stupid, so blind? She didn't know all of Mulder's skeletons, all of his secrets, but of course, neither did he. Scully knew what a psychological profile of Fox Mulder would look like. Even his connections wouldn't be able to help him if it went that far. Scully had to make sure it didn't.

"Look, Agent Orsatti, if you or anyone else does a psychological work-up of Mulder, based on the information at hand, they'll commit him."

Orsatti shook his head.

"No they won't. He doesn't need to be committed. He..." Orsatti's eyes widened. He looked at the report in horror. "Oh, shit," he muttered. Under any other circumstance, Scully would be proud of the kid. But she didn't have time for that. She leaned forward, trying to get her point across as well as she could.

"According to the FBI, Agent Mulder has committed two murders and escaped from jail. Based on your report of his performance during the Mott case and the charges that were very nearly filed by James Mott and probably will be filed if Mott is questioned about this, Mulder is a loose cannon who has finally gone around the bend. He is already on record for being psychologically disturbed and your very honest report has confirmed that he still is. If this report is satisfactory to those people who want Mulder gone, they will pull you off the case immediately and use that report."

Orsatti shook his head dazedly, thinking.

"They set it up...but how?" 

Scully stood, pacing the office.

"They didn't. They took advantage. They always take advantage."

What are we going to do?" he asked innocently. Scully turned, staring at him. His clear blue eyes met hers, unafraid.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here, Agent Orsatti," she said. He shrugged.

"I understand enough," he said quietly.

Scully looked at him closely, needing answers but afraid that she was playing right into the Bureau's hands.

"Is Mulder crazy?" she asked. Orsatti hesitated, looked away. Scully sighed. Shit. Orsatti looked at her again.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "When I look at his file...sometimes I think he is. But most of the time I think he's on the right track. Can he be crazy and right at the same time?"

Scully smiled mirthlessly.

"Damn, you ARE good," she said. Orsatti smiled slightly, chucked the folder across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud, papers fluttering to the floor. Orsatti stood.

"Look, Agent Scully, when I went through the National Academy program, we studied a few of Mulder's cases. That made me want to join the Bureau, stop this researching crap. Shit, I've practically memorized his reports, copied his style. And you know him better than anyone, you know his weaknesses. As far as I'm concerned, Mulder has no weaknesses, so maybe between the two of us we can find him." Scully had never been so astonished in her life.

"Do you have any idea...?"

"What will happen to me if I defy my orders?" he finished. Orsatti nodded. "I'm doing my job, Agent Scully. Mulder needs to be found. But...I won't have my work used in this manner. I'll take my chances, same as you. I'll change the report, make it unsatisfactory."

Scully nodded slowly, relief washing over her. She was so certain that Orsatti would turn out to be one of the "by the book" pricks that made her hackles rise in these types of situations. Truth was, Scully would do anything to find Mulder, anything to give him a chance to explain. Anything to give him whatever had been taken away. She would even trust the untrustworthy if that's what it took to get him back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hartley cabin  
North of Redding, California**

The pressure was suddenly gone and somewhere deep in the recesses of Mulder's mind, a tiny voice told him to breathe. He took in a huge gulp of air and gagged. His eyes opened slightly and he thought he could see Dex and Doyle fighting. He felt a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" penetrated his addled mind. He concentrated on breathing, feeling the air trying to push through his crushed throat. Mulder reached up and touched his neck. He winced and wondered about Dex. How could one man be that strong?

"Are you okay?" This time Mulder made an effort to focus. Abby, oblivious to the fact that Dex and Doyle were trying to kill each other, was perched next to him, her blue eyes filled with concern. Mulder drew another breath and began to cough. He was wracked with spasms. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he clutched the pillow and coughed.

Finally, the fit subsided. Exhausted, Mulder fell back against the pillow and smiled weakly at Abby. She grinned at him and turned slightly, watching the show behind her. Dex and Doyle had broken off the physical confrontation and were now watching each other warily. Dex wiped blood from his face and swung around, eyes boring into Mulder's. He took two quick strides forward and pointed a finger in Mulder's face.

"I coulda killed you," he said quietly, with menace. Mulder got the sense that this man did more with tone than with fists. Mulder nodded, winced. Dex laughed sharply.

"You know your place, got it?"

"Got it," Mulder rasped. Dex considered him for a moment, then turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door forcefully behind him. Doyle looked at Abby.

"Best you get out of here now, darlin'," he said quietly. Mulder stared at Doyle, amazed by the transformation that was taking place. When fighting with Dex, Doyle had become impossibly large but Mulder had attributed that to the fact that he had nearly been strangled to death. But now, right before Mulder's eyes, Doyle seemed to be folding in on himself. Mulder blinked. Doyle was back to normal. Mulder's hands began to shake as he remembered this...from somewhere. He tried to capture the memory but it was gone again.

"Doyle --" Abby was prepared to argue.

"Don't use that tone on me, Abby May. You can't make me," Doyle said defensively. Abby glared at him with hard eyes that made Mulder wince. Doyle started breathing faster.

"I found him," Abby said, her voice deadly. _Oh God..._

"Abby," Doyle said weakly, losing the battle.

"He's sick, you said. Dex is afraid."

"We're all afraid, Abby. Dex is doin' his job. That's all," Doyle replied. Abby took Mulder's hand. He tried to pull away but her grip was like steel. He could almost feel her blood coursing through her veins. It made him dizzy. He swallowed, suddenly nauseous. _Please let go_, he thought. _Please_. Doyle was paying no attention to Mulder. His gaze was trained on Abby. He was...fighting her. Mulder closed his eyes. He could feel himself melting into Abby's hand. Melting...it was easier this way. He could sleep...forever. With a yell, Doyle reached out and ripped Abby's hand away. He picked her up bodily and threw her across the room. She landed with a loud thud and Mulder's eyes jerked open. His breath was coming in little pants now, alternating with coughs. He felt suddenly out of control, like he was spiraling down into the darkness. Doyle grabbed his arm.

"Hey," Doyle said. Mulder started getting panicky. He made eye contact with Abby and she smiled slightly.

"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely, desperately. Doyle spun around, eyes narrowed at Abby. He looked at Mulder, concerned.

"What did you feel?" he asked. Mulder swung his gaze to Doyle, then back to Abby. Doyle growled low in his throat. He patted Mulder awkwardly on  
the shoulder and stood, advancing towards Abby.

"You got no right," he began. Abby was instantly on her feet.

"I got every right! It's you who's got no right! You're a servant, Doyle! Just a servant! You serve ME!"

Abby leapt at him but Doyle was ready for her. He grabbed her and held her as she struggled. Mulder was on his feet instantly. _Help me_... Mulder hobbled over, reached for Abby. Doyle lashed out and kicked him, hard. Mulder fell to the floor. Suddenly, his head began to clear. He kneeled on the floor, still gasping for breath...seeing again. He glanced up. Abby had gone limp in Doyle's arms, acquiescing. She looked sadly at Mulder, then viciously wriggled free of Doyle. She glared at him. He shrugged.

"Ain't yours, Abby," he said quietly. With a pointed look at Mulder, Doyle turned and lumbered into the kitchen. Abby reached down to help Mulder up but he jerked away from her.

"I don't think so," he muttered. Abby bit her lip, watched Mulder crawl back to the sofa where he sat, head in his hands. She approached him tentatively.

"I --"

Mulder looked up.

"What did you do to me?" he asked. Abby twisted her hands, looked away. Mulder grabbed her arm.

"What did you do to me?" he repeated with more force. Abby pulled away and glared at him.

"I found you," she spat out. She turned on her heel and marched outside slamming the door with as much force as Dex had. Mulder sighed, and leaned back against the sofa. He took a deep breath, pleased that he was able. He jerked upright and saw Doyle standing in the middle of the room, an apologetic look on his face and a cup of tea in his hand.

"Tea?" he said unnecessarily. Mulder nodded and took the cup, hands shaking. Doyle sat down and regarded Mulder thoughtfully.

"She likes you," he said. Mulder sipped the tea and nodded.

"She found me," he said. Doyle sighed.

"Abby's always been a bit possessive," he said by way of explanation. Mulder stared at him.

"Of PEOPLE?" he asked, amazed. Doyle nodded unhappily.

"She used to be fond of me, before..." his voice trailed off. Mulder sipped his tea and watched Doyle.

"Before what?" Mulder asked innocently. Doyle shook himself out of his reverie.

"That's none of your business. Look, Dex is gonna put up with you for a few days for Abby's sake. Gotta keep her happy. But then you have to go...it's dangerous here and you'll just be in the way."

"Dangerous how?"

Doyle stared at Mulder.

"None of your business," he said defensively. Mulder never blinked. Doyle got to his feet, suddenly nervous.

"I don't know who you are or where you came from, but it's dangerous here. We got people who'd like to see Abby...us...dead. And they won't hesitate to roll right over the top of you," Doyle said, his words coming out in a rush. Mulder felt a vague uneasiness...one that was impossible to pinpoint. Why did he feel that there was a lot more to this story, and why did he feel compelled to find out what it was? Doyle frowned.

"You okay?"

Mulder looked up, smiled.

"Better, actually. I should...be moving on anyway," he said, standing. Doyle caught him before he fell.

"Doc said two days before you'll be back on your feet. Said you were malnourished, or something," Doyle scolded. Mulder let Doyle tuck the ratty blanket around him. Doyle picked up Mulder's cup and clomped back to the kitchen. Mulder closed his eyes, once again exhausted, and systematically wracked his troubled mind for any indication of who he was or why he was so frightened.

* * *

**Mulder's apartment**

With shaking hands, Scully perused Mulder's field report on the Mott case. She sighed, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Mulder had been extremely diligent in taking notes on this case but they were detached, dry. There was nothing here to indicate any of the emotional problems that Mulder had been having on the case. Scully put her glasses back on, read Mulder's summation, and threw the whole file across the room. There was just nothing there! Mulder had mentioned the possibility that James Mott had been responsible for his daughter's disappearance but only in passing, like he always did on a case. Covering all the bases...Scully sat up. All the bases.

Scully switched on the light in Mulder's apartment. He needed to get better lighting. Maybe a nice torchiere lamp, because the pathetic, rickety thing he had now was only good enough to illuminate a small circle on the brown carpeting. Scully switched on Mulder's computer, typed in the password she prayed he hadn't found out she knew. Her eyes lit up. It still worked. Scully hunted through his Word files. Nothing there. She began opening drawers of his desk, ferreting out disks and popping them into the a-drive. Four hours later, Scully was ready to admit defeat. Mulder had back-up copies of official and unofficial reports on disk and on the hard-drive. But there was no mention of the Mott case anywhere.

Scully stood and stretched. Her eye wandered over to the roll of masking tape sitting by the window. She contemplated summoning X but discarded that thought almost immediately. Maybe...if she really needed him. Hell, if she really needed him...Scully didn't want to think about that.

"Okay, I'm Mulder. What do I do with notes on a recent case?" she asked herself. Scully roamed the apartment, unconsciously straightening. She stopped when she realized what she was doing. If Mulder came home to a clean apartment, he'd really read her out. The impact hit her immediately. Mulder was gone. Vanished, wanted by the FBI for murder. Mulder hadn't called her, hadn't called anyone. Scully sank down onto the couch, head in her hands. _Get control, Dana_, she told herself. _You're not helping him. You're all he's got._ She looked up. Yes, she was all he had. Why did that thought terrify her? Because of all the years she'd tried to be more to people and had failed completely? Would she inevitably fail Mulder? Scully drew a deep breath and got to her feet, determined to find his file on the Mott case. She knew it was here, somewhere. 

Scully began undoing the work that she'd done in putting Mulder's apartment into some order. She tore through boxes, pretended not to see porn magazines and videos. Box after box, mainly stuff from his childhood that he'd lugged up here but had never unpacked. His mother had apparently saved everything, all of his report cards and school papers, all of his trophies...she hadn't really thought of his mother as a woman who had been proud of her son. Scully froze. 

Buried deep in the bottom of the box was a plaster case, obviously for a young child. It would have covered the arm from the hand all the way up to the shoulder. Scully trembled as she gently took it out. People had signed it, some had drawn pictures, even a pediatrician, a Dr. Laurence, had added his autograph. Scully zeroed in on one signature in particular, that of a young child: _"When you get better we can go swimming again. Luv, Sam"._ Scully let the cast fall back into the box. She brought a hand up to her mouth, horrified.

"Oh God, Mulder," she whispered, just imagining the implications of this particular souvenir. Scully shut her eyes, remembering Mulder's charge up the walk to the Mott house, remembering how enraged he'd been when James Mott had disciplined his surviving child, Jessie, by smacking her in the mouth. Scully remembered...and so did Mulder.

Scully quickly sealed up the box and blindly reached for another, expecting and dreading more memories from Mulder's past. But this box was filled with tattered notebooks. Scully's eyes lit up. Case notebooks. She tore through them to no avail but immediately was on her feet, heading for Mulder's desk. Sure enough, a stack of notebooks, not quite so tattered, in the bottom drawer. Scully would try and get the lock and the drawer replaced before Mulder even knew she'd been in there. And right on the top of the pile, Mulder's notes on the Mott case. Scully would have been happy if she hadn't knows that, somehow, this would give her more answers than she really wanted.

* * *

**Office of the X-Files  
** Federal Bureau of Investigation  
Washington DC 

"Come in."

Will Orsatti hesitated, then opened the door. Dana Scully sat behind her desk, absorbed in her reading material. Orsatti cleared his throat and she looked up, distracted.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked quite innocently. She nodded.

"We're leaving for Colorado this afternoon. You'd better pack," she said automatically. Orsatti stared at her. Scully stared back. He sighed.

"Chances are that he's not in Colorado," he said quietly. She arched an eyebrow at him and he suddenly began to feel very sorry for Fox Mulder.

"No kidding, Agent Orsatti. But he was there and..." Scully hesitated, casting a glance at the notebook that lay open in front of her. She needed to stall this kid.

"I think we should talk to the people at the bus station, read over the depositions that the FBI is going to use to crucify Mulder. I need to see the scene, look over autopsy reports. I need to do something."

Scully looked at him, unblinking. Orsatti felt himself nodding. She smiled slightly, a crack in her steel-kitten veneer.

"Plane leaves at two-thirty."

He nodded and backed out of the room.

Scully blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair. Suddenly, she didn't trust Will Orsatti one bit. He'd told her everything she'd wanted to hear, his reactions had been correct right down the pike. But now that Scully had found the notebook...now that she knew that Will Orsatti HAD filed his report with his superiors...Scully knew that Orsatti was wrong. Mulder HAD shot those two men. Mulder was running blind and scared and it was Will Orsatti's job to make sure that Mulder panicked his way right out of the FBI and into a straitjacket.


	6. Chapter 6

_Mulder's preliminary field report  
Case #X-319564_

_ Scully and I arrived at the home of James Mott in Redding, California at ten o'clock in the morning on August 16th. His daughter Jessie, fourteen, met us at the door. Both Jessie and her mother, Lila, appeared to be in shock. I questioned Lila and found her to be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome which was unusual considering she had not seen nor heard anything strange the night Sallie was taken. Scully doesn't want me to say "taken". "Disappeared" works better for her and I'm too tired to have this argument right now._

_ Lila Mott claims that both her daughters were asleep in their room (they share a bedroom). she was not aware that anything was amiss until she went to wake them the next morning. Sallie was gone and she was unable to wake Jessie. She immediately called her husband, James, a construction worker. A doctor came to see Jessie who finally came out of what I believe to be a catatonic state. Jessie became hysterical and had to be sedated. Neither parent had heard nor seen anything unusual the night before. _

_Two other children, both young girls, had disappeared in the Redding area and it was Lila Mott's hysterical belief that the publicity over the Polly Klass case had incited a copycat killer who abducted children from their beds. This made sense to James Mott as well. He was utterly grief-stricken over the disappearance of his five-year-old daughter. He was very supportive of his wife but not of Jessie, who would scream out in terror whenever she saw him or anybody male. Scully did the first interview and I conducted the second, three days after we had arrived in Redding. Jessie was prescribed an anti-psychotic and was very calm when I talked to her._  
_ The transcription is as follows:_

_M: Do you remember going to sleep the night Sallie disappeared, Jessie?_  
_ J: Yes._  
_ M: What did you do before you went to bed?_  
_ J: I was playing Doom on my computer. Sallie liked to watch._  
_ M: What time did you go to bed?_  
_ J: Nine, like always._  
_ M: Did you go right to sleep, Jessie?_  
_ J: No...Sallie doesn't like to go to sleep. She doesn't like the dark, but Daddy won't let us keep a light on...so I have to talk to her until she goes to sleep._  
_ M: Do you have to talk to her every night?_  
_J: Almost._  
_ M: Did Sallie go to sleep?_  
_ J: Yes._  
_ M: Did you go to sleep?_  
_ J: Yes._  
_ M: Are you sure?_  
_ J: I went to sleep._  
_ M: What's the next thing you remember?_  
_ J: The light._  
_ M: Where was it coming from?_  
_ J: Outside. It was really bright...it shone right in our window._  
_ M: It woke you up?_  
_ J: No...yes. Yes, it woke me up._  
_ M: Did the light move?_  
_ J: No. It stayed still. Sallie was still asleep. I got up to see what it was..._  
_ M: What else happened, Jessie?_  
_ J: I...I don't remember. Then I woke up._  
_ M: You went back to bed when you saw the light?_  
_ J: No...I just remember seeing the light, then I woke up._  
_ M: Were you in bed?_  
_ J: Yes...the doctor was there._  
_ M: Then what happened?_  
_ J: I thought he was going to hurt me._  
_ M: Why?_  
_ J: I don't know! I just...I was scared of him._  
_ M: Has he ever given you any reason to be scared of him?_  
_ J: No...but...he wasn't who I thought he was._  
_ M: Who was he?_  
_ J: I mean...he was the doctor, but at first...he was someone else._  
_ M: Who else, Jessie?_  
_ J: I don't know who he was. Someone to be scared of. Someone else._  
_ M: Someone who took Sallie?_  
_ J: I don't know! I don't know what happened to her! I was supposed to watch her, to protect her...I don't know what happened!!_

_\-- end interview._

* * *

**Montrose, Colorado**

Scully smoothed her jacket in a vain attempt to look neatly-pressed after the horrendous plane ride. Orsatti was still grumbling about it as he collected the bags.

"It never would've occured to me that going a thousand miles out of our way would be a time-saver. Never in a million years."

Scully smiled wryly.

"Don't travel much, do you?"

"I try to avoid it. Is that blue one yours?"

Scully dove for her bag, trying to ignore the brand-new presence next to her. Orsatti made her so nervous that she'd placed a call to the Lone Gunmen before she left, leaving them her cellphone number. Like they couldn't get her cellphone number from one of the many underground "phone books". They had known about Mulder's disappearance and were working night and day to uncover any clues. Langly told Scully that going to Colorado was her best bet and the words in Mulder's notebook made her ever certain that the key to Mulder's behavior was in the Mott case. The sheriff, Dan Gunderson, was a tall, very thin man, with sunken cheeks and pits for eyes. He regarded Scully warily and she sighed inwardly. Another law enforcement chauvinist pig. She smiled brightly at him and flipped her I.D. open the way Mulder did. She'd had to practice the wrist-flick for weeks before she'd gotten it right and she was fairly certain that she'd developed carpal tunnel syndrome from the practice. Gunderson eyed his deputy out of the room and sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed confrontationally.

"It's about that Fibbie, isn't it? The one what killed two men and cut and run," he said. Scully nodded, wondering how long this guy had wanted to be Mannix.

"Yes, Sheriff. He's...my partner. I'll need to see the bodies, and --"

"Whoa, little lady! Hang on there! I can't just release those bodies to anyone!"

_Bullshit_, Scully thought angrily. She concentrated on her calm, unruffled exterior.

"Either you release the bodies to me or I will send them back to Quantico for full autopsies. I am a medical doctor," Scully said loudly, over Gunderson's continued protests, "and unless you want those bodies completely dissected I suggest you do what I say."

Scully could feel Orsatti shift next to her. Gunderson watched her for a moment, then nodded, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Sorry, Agent Scully. It's been...well, it's been difficult here."

Scully ignored this obvious play for sympathy and waited. Gunderson turned his back on her and gazed out the window.

"This is a small community, folks are close to their neighbors, I know everyone in town. And then there's this shooting..." His voice faded. Scully watched him, unconvinced that this was affecting him so deeply. Gunderson had worked for much of his early career in the NYPD. He turned suddenly, favoring Scully with a sharp gaze.

"Those men were shot, Agent Scully. Killed by your partner. You take a look at the crime scene before you go looking at the bodies," he said authoritatively. Scully refused to back down. She loathed this man.

"You prepare the bodies while I'm looking at the crime scene," she said, turning to leave. Orsatti followed silently. Scully paused, hand on the doorknob, as another question occurred to her. She turned back to Gunderson.

"Were the murdered men local?" she asked. Gunderson shook his head, surprised.

"No, Agent Scully, they weren't."  
He looked almost apologetic and Scully tilted her head, watching him.

"See...the only reason I requested the FBI in the first place was because we couldn't identify them. So when they came and tore everything up, turned this town into front-page news, we all got a little upset, because that's not what we needed. And then you show up..."

Scully sighed, finally getting it.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Finding my partner is paramount. I just --"

Gunderson grinned at her, a friendly grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Scully, tired and anxious and terribly concerned about Mulder, had certainly misjudged this man.

"You just didn't take the time to check on these guys. It's okay," Gunderson said. Scully smiled slightly.

"It's a rookie mistake," she replied. Gunderson stepped past her and opened the door.

"You need anything, you come see me," he said, good humor surfacing.

"Thanks. Sheriff -- was the Bureau able to ID the men?" she asked. The sheriff shook his head, looking concerned, dark.

"No they weren't."

Scully ushered Orsatti out in front of her and paused, looking at Gunderson.

"They weren't able to, or they didn't give you the information?" she said softly.

Gunderson's eyes widened.

"Sure enough, you're more paranoid than I am!"

Scully smiled ruefully.

"You have no idea," she replied. Gunderson looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head.

"To tell you the truth...I don't know. They shoved us out of the way pretty quick, but they did seem...worried. Like they really didn't know..." he looked away, embarrassed.

"But you can't trust the Feds," Scully said. He grinned and nodded.

"Let me know what you find?" he asked hopefully, not wanting to be cut out of the loop again. Scully nodded.

"I sure will," she said, then left the office and steeled herself for Orsatti's questions.

* * *

**Hartley cabin  
North of Redding, California**

It was still fall, Mulder discovered when he was allowed to venture outside. Doyle was more of a mother hen with Mulder than he was with Abby May which was to be expected under the circumstances. The vague uneasiness that Mulder felt was growing now and was not to be denied. Something was not right here, something was in fact quite rotten. It concerned him only because he was in the middle of it and that made him feel even more helpless than he already was. It made him feel emotionally bereft. Since he'd so far been unable to feel much of anything, being able to identify the lack of emotion was probably a good sign. Mulder slept fitfully if at all and was frequently jolted out of sleep by what he assumed to be the night sounds of the woods. But something deep inside Mulder knew that was bullshit. Something knew the truth.

The Truth.

He needed to know why that word was so important to him, why it sent shivers down his spine. He needed to know why she visited him at night. Mulder's boots crunched on the bed of pine needles. He kept one eye on the cabin, ready to bolt if he heard the door slam. Mulder stopped, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. It was still difficult to breathe but the bullet hole in his leg was healing rather nicely. It hadn't been as bad as -- Mulder jerked upright, eyes glazing over as he tried to finish the thought.

"Dammit," he swore softly. So far, he had been unable to capture any of the strands that floated through his damaged mind. They swarmed through him, taunting him, tantalizing him. And even though the little voice he'd been relying heavily upon told him that these random thoughts were crucial to his existence, there was a relief in not being able to recall events, people, things, emotions. He almost felt...free. Which was ironic, in a way, since he felt so trapped in that house. Abby had trapped him, like some small stupid animal, too instinctual to know anything but immediate survival. That had definitely been him. And now...he shook his head, walked deeper into the woods. And stopped.

The moon peered through the tops of the trees, glowing amber against the velvety evening sky. A harvest moon, Mulder recalled. That's what Doyle said they were called. The moon was huge and swollen and Mulder imagined it as his mind, swollen with memories it was unable or unwilling to divulge. He stared at the moon thoughtfully, trying to be still in his mind so that the tickle of a thought wouldn't be chased away. The moon...the stars, twinkling brightly, almost mechanically...

Almost in a trance, Mulder moved through the trees and towards the moon. It grew bigger in his eyes, reflecting through them and into his soul. And then it changed, shifted, morphed. Into her. It was almost too much. Her green cloak hid the moon but the intense brightness still managed to illuminate the forest. It illuminated her almost, casting an eerie amber glow around the moving cloth. Mulder stopped in his tracks, wary but no longer afraid. She wanted him to be afraid, wanted him to plead with her as he'd done the first time he'd seen her. To tell the truth, he was tired of her. He was tired of the games, of the way she'd show him the child in order to draw him out. She glided towards him, arms outstretched a tad theatrically. Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

"What cardinal rule have I broken now?" he inquired pleasantly. She hovered before him, raised her hands. He sighed, shook his head, and turned to go.

"Wait."

Mulder didn't. He picked his way nimbly through the forest, trying to ignore the fuzziness in his head that meant he'd been up too long. He could barely see the cabin through the trees and wondered hazily if he might not just enjoy spending the night on a lovely bed of pine needles.

"Wait," she commanded again, but Mulder wasn't hearing her. His lungs were burning with the effort of taking in air and Mulder was beginning to panic. Deep breaths, he told himself as he gasped horribly. He began to run, limp really, trying desperately to reach the clearing before his lungs stopped working altogether. As he gasped what he was fairly certain would be his last, a velvety soft hand touched his shoulder. Mulder stopped. She'd never touched him before. Never. The soft touch exerted pressure on his shoulder and he felt himself sinking to the ground, wheezing and praying for air. The figure knelt before him and he could once more see into the depths of her serious gaze.

"I am here to help you," she said quietly, her voice like the murmur of air through the trees. Mulder would have thought it beautiful if he wasn't dying.

"Help me?" he wheezed. He began coughing, the racking cough that generally ended with the inhaler, which he had left in the cabin. The woman put a hand on his chest, almost pushing air into his lungs. Mulder's eyes widened and he looked at her. He drew in a breath, wheezing only slightly.

"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely.

"Nothing Abby May wouldn't have done, except she would exact some payment from you," the voice told him. She'd never told him anything of use before. Mulder seized on it.

"What are you?"

She considered him for a moment, then rose.

"You know what I am. Look inside," she replied mysteriously. Mulder sighed. She was back to this again.

"Fine, play your games," he said nastily, rising unsteadily to his feet. She turned and pointed a slender pale arm towards the moon.

"You are here for the moon," she said quietly. Mulder stared at her, then looked up at the harvest moon again. Here for the moon...maybe she'd clarify, if he asked nicely.

"Did I come here for the moon?" he asked slowly. She nodded.

"Yes."

And with that, she was gone. Mulder blinked. The amber light of the moon glowed through the trees once more, unencumbered by the dark cloak of the woman. He had come for the moon...what in the hell did that mean? Mulder jerked around as he heard the door of the cabin slam. He could see Abby May, in a bright yellow cotton dress, standing on the porch, hands on hips. He sighed and slowly made his way through the trees and into the clearing, towards Abby May.


	7. Chapter 7

They'd buried him. His eyes snapped open and when they had adjusted, he found himself staring at the inside of the lid of a coffin. He drew in a breath and tasted damp soil and musty air. The only air left that would keep him alive was inside the coffin. They'd buried him. He wasn't dead. They hadn't even checked, they'd just consigned him to a life with the worms and the maggots without the knowledge that he was alive. And then he saw the moon, shining impossibly through the coffin lid. Mocking him. You didn't know, it said. You knew too much. And it killed you. _But I'm not dead,_ he protested. The moon inclined towards him. Oh yes you are, it replied. You didn't know. And then you knew. And then you died.

Mulder's terrified scream tore at his throat. He ended up on the floor, gagging as he screamed, stupidly unable to stop himself. The lights went on and Doyle's heavy steps moved towards him. Dimly, Mulder was aware of Doyle grabbing his hands, holding them firmly. Mulder writhed, gasping, screaming.

"Lemme out! God, please! I can't...I didn't..." Doyle just held his hands, watching mutely as Mulder thrashed. Then, finally, it was over. Mulder slowly opened his eyes, focused on Doyle.

"Ya awright?" Doyle asked equitably. Mulder shivered, the memory of all of that pressed Earth above him still fresh in what passed for his memory. Mulder slowly glanced down at his hands. Doyle let go and Mulder stared as the blood dripped down onto the floor. Doyle watched impassively and Mulder remembered pounding on the coffin lid in the vain hope that someone who loved him, someone who believed in him, would hear his pounding and rescue him. But even in the nightmare Mulder had known that nobody would come. Even then, he knew he was alone. Mulder slumped against the couch, ineffectively wiping a bloody hand on his shirt front. Doyle watched him for another moment, then rose and walked towards the kitchen. He returned a moment later, silently handing Mulder a towel. Mulder had a fairly deep gash on one knuckle, but the blood made it look worse than it actually was.

Mulder sat on the couch and smiled at Doyle, taking the cup of tea from him.

"Hands okay?" Doyle asked. Mulder nodded.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said softly. Doyle shrugged.

"Used to it now," he said, then stopped. Mulder stared at him.

"Have I had these before?" he asked incredulously. Doyle nodded.

"Yeah, but not as bad. Lucky for you, Dex and Abby May are off tonight," he replied. Dex and Abby...Mulder sipped his tea. His rapidly beating heart was finally getting back to normal.

"Where'd they go?" he asked innocently. Doyle hesitated, clearly uneasy with the subject.

"To see if they couldn't make a deal and the Spikers," he said. Mulder looked at him. Doyle stared hard at the wall.

"I never did find out what was going on with the Spikers. Some kind of feud?" Mulder asked as innocuously as possible. Doyle favored him with a quick nod.

"Somethin' like that," he replied cautiously. Doyle rose abruptly.

"Get some sleep," he said.

"Thanks," Mulder replied. Doyle paused in the hallway and turned around, locking eyes with Mulder.

"You're feeling better," he stated. Mulder nodded.

"Are ya feeling good enough to set out tomorrow night?"

Mulder was surprised.

"Um..sure, I guess. Dex wants me gone?"

Mulder hadn't seen much of Dex. The man had snarled at him a few times but generally had ignored him. Mulder knew that there was something strange happening in this house and he hoped fervently that he wasn't going to be a part of it. If he had to climb Buckhorn Summit on his knees in order to get out of this house, he would. Doyle contemplated Mulder for a long moment.

"It's been six days," he said quietly, as if that should explain everything. Suddenly, the moon flashed into Mulder's mind. The harvest moon, the knowing moon. The woman.

"What happens after six days?" he asked. Doyle got a faraway look in his eyes and he seemed to transport himself out of the dingy cabin for a moment.

"The seventh day," he said flatly, eyes coming back into focus. Mulder just nodded stupidly as Doyle rambled back down the hallway.

* * *

_Mulder's preliminary field report  
Case # X-319564_

_ I have interviewed James Mott, who appears properly grief-stricken at the disappearance of his youngest daughter. Scully is waiting for me to pronounce sentence on Sallie Mott as an abductee, but for once I'm not so sure. Sallie is the third girl to disappear from her bedroom at night, the third girl who was seemingly abducted. Were it not for the testimony of Jessie Mott, I would believe that these were all earthly abductions. It's strange; I believe Sallie was taken by somebody and not something, even though Jessie witnessed a classic abduction. The other girls could have been abducted for all we know. Both cases were treated as kidnapping and the Bureau was not called in on any of them. The locals blamed the kidnappings on a drifter, your typical white male, aged 25-35, battered as a child, dominated by his mother...and every time I try to explain that you can only get so much out of a textbook, the cops' eyes lock me out and I'm once more the crazy Fibbie, come to show the yokels how to dispense justice._

_ I'm willing to believe that we have some nutcase kidnapping girls from their beds; it's certainly not unprecedented and is, in fact, a disturbing new trend. But my little voice, that which Scully calls Lucifer Cricket, is niggling at me, telling me that I've just seen the beginning, the tip of the iceberg._

_ I can't substantiate this yet because I've not decided if a profile should necessarily include the other missing girls, but I believe that Sallie's "abduction" was staged. It's too perfect -- now if only I could account for Jessie's recollections._

_ What I should do is call Skinner and tell him to get in touch with Mike Tours at ISU. They should send someone down here. Scully and I should go home, have a few weeks of sifting through dusty case files and eating bad shrimp salad for lunch. I can already feel this case closing in on me. I see Sallie Mott when I close my eyes, and I know that there are more out there. I can feel it. There's going to be more. One more._

* * *

**Best Western Motel  
Montrose, Colorado**

Scully closed the notebook and leaned back against the headboard. _Think, Dana,_ she told herself severely. She was having a hard time reading Mulder's notes on the Mott case.

He'd filled the entire notebook and the scribbles at the end indicated his state of mind as they were sent home. Mulder was right; they should have been sent home as soon as it became apparent that there were no little green men involved. But Mulder was so damned persistent; he just couldn't let that idea go entirely. He had to consider all the facts and the truth be known, the last case had worn him out emotionally and he was simply too tired to be involved with this one. 

Scully had tried but had been unable to obtain anything out of Mulder's VICAP file, but she'd talked to one agent who'd worked with him on a few cases and found out that Mulder reacted even worse to overwork than many of the other agents. Mulder involved himself completely in each case, just as that rat bastard Patterson had taught him, and it had nearly been his undoing. Scully had seen him doing this with the X-Files, but never to such a degree as had been described. Scully was terrified to read through to the end of the notebook, sure that she would be even more certain that Mulder was in deep trouble.

* * *

**Washington DC**

The woman was in Colorado. Good. He'd already been to Colorado. That was where he'd lost the subject. Damn him for being so resourceful! _And damn ME for insisting upon backup,_ he thought. Denman had gotten sucked into the Fox Mulder legend and was so determined not to let him slip away that he'd requested those two idiots who now lay in the morgue, being dissected like fetal pigs by the woman. He'd contented himself (for awhile) with the thought that Mulder would just be charge with the crimes, be brought back to Washington in chains, and would be thoroughly discredited as an FBI agent and as a human being. Even though he was an assassin, there was some thrill in emotional assassination, in devastation. It was never enough to quell the pain of a missed kill, but he'd learned to live with whatever satisfaction he could get.

But the woman...the woman was trouble. She was insistent that Fox Mulder had somehow been framed, of all things, that he hadn't killed those two men, hadn't gone nuts, hadn't run. That he was being pursued. How DID she get that paranoid, Denman wondered. And then he smiled delightedly. She wasn't paranoid. Fox Mulder WAS being pursued. He swirled the Scotch around in his glass and watched the patterns the liquid made. He knew that Mulder wasn't in Colorado. What he didn't know was why Mulder hadn't gotten in touch with the woman. And that bothered him. He knew that they were close and fantasized that he'd one day get an assignment to blow the woman's face off, if only to see these two burrs under the saddle of democracy vanquished forever from the face of the Earth. 

Annoyed, Denman set the Scotch down on the end table. Alcohol always made him reminisce, it always made him wax poetic. He would find Mulder. It wouldn't be hard -- his phone rang. He jumped slightly, then flipped it open and put it to his ear, waiting. The voice spoke, then he heard the audible click of a phone being hung up. He smiled, pocketed his phone. Informants were worth their weight in gold. Fox Mulder was in California, Northern California. He frowned slightly, perfect eyebrows creasing. But then his face cleared. He didn't need to know why Mulder was in California, what he was running to or what he was running from. All he needed to know was where to aim.

* * *

**Hartley cabin  
North of Redding, California**

Abby smoothed the skirt of her dress and smiled brilliantly at Mulder. She handed him a sandwich and frowned when he took it listlessly.

"What's a matter, Fred? Ya don't like tuna?" she asked worriedly. Mulder grinned crookedly. Maybe Fred WAS his real name. He'd started answering to it. He took a bite of the sandwich. Abby smiled devilishly.

"Guess the secret ingredient?" she taunted. He shook his head.

"I don't want to know. It's probably pig's intestine or something," he said. Abby shook her head resolutely.

"Nope. Spiker," she said. Mulder stared at her. She laughed.

"You've got an odd sense of humor, Abby," he said ruefully. She nodded as if that made everything just about perfect.

"It's Dex. He gets me goin' and I just can't stop."

Abby shaded her eyes with a hand and looked around, bored. Mulder chewed and watched her.

"How long have you been here?" he asked. She shrugged, slurping down lemonade.

"Month, maybe two. Waitin', you know," she replied, embarrassed.

"Waiting for what?" he asked. Abby hesitated, refilled his lemonade glass.

"For you," she said, almost shy. Mulder stared at her, mystery sandwich forgotten. She began shoving food back into the picnic basket.

"Not for you, exactly. For someone...something. Spiker's will kill us if they find us. 'Specially me. Dex and Doyle are protecting me. You...you're sorta my insurance," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. Mulder was completely at sea now.

"Insurance for what?"

Abby sighed, picked up the basket. Mulder shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and got to his feet. That had to be the shortest picnic in the history of the world.

"I really shouldn'ta said anything. I didn't wanta say anything until I knew for sure. Now I know, so..." Abby's voice trailed off as she contemplated Mulder. She set the basket down again and took a quick look around. Mulder had noticed that when Abby, Dex or Doyle used their eyes, they also used their other senses. They were complete that way. Abby's nose quivered and she finally sat back down, satisfied that nobody was around. Mulder followed her example, sitting next to her. She took his hand. He jerked back and she gave him a hound-dog expression.

"I ain't gonna hurt you," she said scornfully. He cast her a wary glance.

"Not like before," she said softly. "I hadn't any right to do that. I'm right sorry for that, but Dex can make me so mad..."

Mulder let her take his hand. She held it between her soft hands, studying it.

"Are you a palm reader or something?" he asked. She laughed.

"Nope. Stuff's stupid. Doyle believes in all that stuff. I don't. It ain't true. I wanna make a pact with you," she said. Mulder nodded slowly.

"Uh...okay. What kind of pact?"

"I wanna be aware of you, and you of me," she said mysteriously. This was not good. Mulder watched her warily as she studied his hand. She glanced up at him and he was struck by her gaze. Her eyes, blue flecked with yellow, seemed to glow in the soft afternoon sunlight. She smiled slightly at him.

"I ain't gonna seduce you," she said. Mulder laughed nervously.

"Okay."

Abby took his other hand and there they sat, motionless. She closed her eyes, and Mulder followed suit. Her touch was feather light and calming, tranquil. The bonelessness he'd felt before came back in a rush but it was different this time, it was welcomed. Before, it had seemed like a violation, like an intrusion. But this was warm and enveloping, comforting. Mulder wanted to cry, it felt so good. He had a flash then, of another woman. She was looking down at him smiling as if he was the only person in the world. He felt safe with her, safe in that moment. Safe with Abby.

She slowly withdrew her hands. The spell was broken. Mulder blinked his eyes open and he stared in shock at Abby's eyes. They were dark blue pools and Mulder could se himself reflected in them. They were pain-filled eyes. Then she blinked and smiled at him, and the pain faded. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips then sat back and regarded him for a moment.

"Is that it?" he asked hoarsely. She tossed her hair.

"Yeah. That's it."

Mulder nodded, somehow satisfied. He was definitely aware of Abby May Hartley now, down to his bones. And that was a good feeling.

* * *

**Best Western Motel  
Montrose, Colorado**

"Agent Scully?"

Scully jerked back to the present. She smiled wanly at Orsatti and picked up her fork.

"Sorry. What were you saying?" she asked politely. Orsatti sat back in his seat, watching her. Always watching her...Scully was now positive that she had to give Will Orsatti the slip. It was too pat, too perfect. He was too eager, like Alex Krycek had been. Mulder would have mistrusted Orsatti from the beginning but Scully had been foolish and had thought that she needed to bring him with her in order to keep an eye on HIM. Now, it was backfiring. Orsatti stuck to her like glue. They'd visited the crime scene and found nothing. Scully had looked at the bodies. Nothing. And now she was convinced that not only was the key to Mulder's flight in his notes, but also that there was more to the story than she'd suspected. Mulder had killed those two men in a panic, which meant that he was afraid. Of Them.

* * *

Scully knelt down next to the dried pool of blood. There had been a lot of blood from both bodies, blood running in rivulets down the floor. Mulder had ostensibly killed these two men in a bus depot, witnessed by forty people. Mulder had been taken into custody almost immediately and try as she might, Scully could make neither heads nor tails of the arrest report. It was idiotic in its simplicity and no mention was made of Mulder's state of mind, of anything he'd said at all. Mulder HAD killed them. 

The gun was his own, his fingerprints were all over it. Those were the facts and Scully dealt in facts. They made her comfortable, able to think clearly. Facts could be compartmentalized, referred to. Facts could not be misconstrued or twisted. Now, Scully wished with everything she was that this was not the case. Mulder was not a killer, but he'd killed. Therefore, something had to have set him off. Something took the Fox Mulder she knew and switched him off, turned him into someone else. Fear, perhaps. Illness. Psychosis? Scully didn't want to imagine that.

Scully abruptly got to her feet, shouldering her bag. The cop in charge squinted at her.

"See enough?" he asked perfunctorily. Scully nodded, feeling the mask slip onto her features. Dana Scully, Special Agent.

"Ballistics --" she began. The cop waved a hand.

"In the report. Your people were thorough," he said, and Scully heard that faint snarl in his voice. The FBI's most unloved, that's what she was. Scully took the file and went back to the motel.

The motel was where it hit her, that blinding insight that she'd been searching for. She read the report. Mulder was sitting on a bus bench with a few other people. Just sitting, doing nothing. According to witnesses, Mulder had suddenly bolted, running through the station away from the two men who had appeared. Threatened. The men gave chase. The witnesses assumed that they were cops and Mulder was some psychotic escaped convict. The people didn't want to get involved. Nobody ever wanted to get involved. Backed up against a wall in the dimmest, darkest part of the station, Mulder had apparently pulled his gun and shot the two men. The gunshots echoed through the station and the first person to reach the scene reported that Mulder stood against the wall, gun limply in one hand, staring at the bodies of the two men and the blood enveloping their still forms. People never want to get involved but they are quick to judge. Station security arrived and took Mulder into custody. His gun, the weapon that had been issued to him after the last time he'd lost his gun, had most definitely fired the shots.

Two things bothered Scully. One, the identities of the victims were never uncovered. Mulder WAS paranoid, but most of the time it was with good reason. Even the Lone Gunmen couldn't identify the victims. They were ghosts. How unusual could it be that Mulder would kill two nameless, faceless men? How much of a coincidence could that be? Scully started getting the chills up and down her spine, the chills that told her there were bigger problems at hand. She'd tried so hard to ignore her paranoid leanings but after all that had happened she realized that she was slipping into a new persona. She felt like a heretic, preaching the word of truth to the uncaring. 

The other thing that concerned her was Mulder being at a bus station. He didn't have a ticket on him when he'd been arrested but he was obviously going somewhere. Scully flashed on Mulder's mug shot. He hadn't said a word from the time he was arrested to the time he escaped. He had no ID on him at all. The cruel irony was that the cops had faxed his photo to the Bureau, hoping to identify at least one person in all this mess. And it had turned out to be one of their own.

Scully leaned back, letting her mind work.

Mulder in Colorado, Mulder obviously on the run. Something had happened to him in DC after they'd returned. She'd been so worried about him...and he'd disappeared right under her nose, right from work. Scully had found Mulder's ID on his desk. He had his gun...Scully jumped up, spilling papers all over the floor. She grabbed her coat, then hesitated. Orsatti. _Fuck Orsatti_, Scully thought viciously. She wouldn't play the game anymore. If he wanted to follow her, good luck. Scully crept silently out of her room.


	8. Chapter 8

Will Orsatti sat up as he heard a door shut softly. _Dammit._ He shut the laptop, swung his legs off the bed, and picked up his jacket. He moved quickly towards the window and saw Dana Scully slink past it and to the car. 

"Shit!" he hissed. He raced for the door, opened it and shouted.

"Agent Scully!"

She froze and turned to look at him, eyes wild, caught. _Shit,_ he thought. _She knows. How does she know?_ He considered what to do as he walked quickly towards her. He had no authorization to do anything but let her lead him to Mulder. Harper had been very explicit in his instructions and Orsatti wasn't about to let a chance at a good field assignment go out the window by breaking the rules. Even if it meant letting Dana Scully get the jump on him occasionally. He hadn't believed that Scully was really this paranoid or this ready to throw away her career, so this whole sneaking out thing had come as a surprise. Now she watched him warily as he approached and he realized with relief that she wasn't yet far gone enough to bolt right in front of him. 

Scully still believed in the system, he had to think that. He could see her balanced on the balls of her feet, though, ready for flight. Suddenly, he was crushed to have put her in this position. He was a good agent, dammit! Who did she think he was, anyway? He was feeling magnanimous tonight, and a little smug that he'd managed to trap her. He put on his best, most welcoming smile.

"Hey, if you're going for food, mind if I come?" he asked pleasantly. The rigid line in her body softened somewhat, but too much worry and too little sleep kept her on the defensive. And the offensive, as it turned out. She pulled her gun on him. Stunned, Orsatti took two steps backwards, arms going up automatically. Scully's focus was unwavering and she glared furiously at him.

"Who were those men?" she asked in a low, deadly voice. Orsatti shivered. He had underestimated Dana Scully terribly. She would kill him if he didn't have the answers she sought. They didn't even play the game now, because both of them knew that the facades had dropped.

"Who were they?" she shouted, lunging forward, deadly weapon still aimed at his chest. Orsatti's inner self was disgusted when his outer self began shaking his head, babbling uselessly.

"I don't know I don't know you have to believe me they didn't tell me anything I don't know --"

"SHUT UP!" she yelled. He shut up, his palms sweaty with panic. She stood still, staring at him, waiting for him to do...what? It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't trained for this. He wasn't trained for anything. All he could do was sit in a dark room, look at crime scene photos, and try to figure out what kind of sicko could do this sort of thing. Orsatti never left his office. He was safe, cocooned. He might have a bad dream every once in awhile, but he knew the sickos would never find him. They'd never know that they were apprehended because of his work. He got to do the work, but never had to pay the price. He never had to live by his wits, figure out who was trying to fuck him, wonder if anyone was trying to kill him. 

And now, here he was, Ivy Leaguer Will Orsatti, staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon, pointed at him by a fellow agent. Now he envied Dana Scully almost as much as he feared her. He was pissing his pants, he was so scared. What kind of a fucking FBI agent did that make him? He had soft hands and a soft mind. He still couldn't program the VCR. He was hoping to get a gold watch when he retired. And this woman...this woman was trying to fight through the morass of intrigue and shadowy figures in order to get her partner back. She didn't know who helped and who hurt. She had to distrust everyone. 

_It wasn't always like that,_ Orsatti thought. _Please tell me it wasn't always that way. Please tell me that once upon a time, Dana Scully had been a nice, lovely, bright young woman with a bright future ahead of her and superiors who doted on her._ Now, her unwavering faith in Mulder and his cause made her dangerous. Now, Orsatti sobbed, tears streaming down his face, praying that Scully would see him for what he was and hating himself for the need to be weak and ineffectual.

"Look, Agent Scully, you have to believe me. Harper...Harper sent me, said to find Mulder, find him and bring him back...he didn't trust you...he didn't think you'd bring him back...I swear, I'm working for the FBI...it's all I ever wanted...I do my job, I hope for more...Harper gave me the chance...I'm going to be a field agent, he said so..." Orsatti couldn't go on. He hated himself for what he was. Scully's aim didn't waver. She pressed her advantage.

"You are NEVER going to be a field agent!" she snarled. Orsatti looked down.

"Hands up, Orsatti!" Scully said. Orsatti jerked erect again, once more staring into her heated gaze.

"You listen to me, Orsatti, if you lie to me I will kill you. If you EVER lie to me, I will kill you. If I learn that you are not working for Harper, that this whole pathetic breakdown is a sham, I will kill you. I have got to find Mulder. NOTHING else matters to me. And I will not turn him over to you or anyone else until I am convinced that he will be treated fairly. Got me?"

Orsatti could do nothing but nod. Scully went on.

"No matter what Harper told you, the Bureau is playing you. There is always another agenda, Orsatti, which is something that you need to learn if you want to be involved. We are all puppets, every one of us. We're all working for a higher truth that we'll never find," she said, her voice beginning to calm slightly. Orsatti drew a hopeful breath. Maybe she wouldn't kill him. How could he convince her that he was telling the truth? And then it hit him: he couldn't. Not ever. Because Dana Scully had been lied to too many times to believe the likes of Will Orsatti. Dana Scully believed in exactly two people -- herself and Fox Mulder. And Orsatti, Harper and everyone else were trying to take that belief away from her. Jesus Christ, Orsatti thought bleakly.

"I will do whatever you want me to do," he said calmly. "I will say anything you want me to say. I am not here to obstruct your search for Mulder. I was not forced or coerced in any way to write my report. My truth is in that report. I stand by it. I believe in it." Scully stared at him, eyes wide. She still won't believe me, Orsatti thought. And she didn't.

"You are good, Agent Orsatti. Much as I would like to believe that you're telling the truth, I can't."

Scully lowered the gun. Orsatti was weak with relief.

"But I can't shoot you because of my paranoia. I will shoot you if I suspect you're going behind my back. You had better watch out for me, Will Orsatti."

_Isn't that the truth_, Orsatti thought. He would always watch out for Dana Scully. Mulder didn't know how lucky he was. He'd trained her well...or maybe the multitude of tragedies had trained her the same way they'd trained Mulder. That thought brought tears to Orsatti's eyes. Scully was completely bereft of whatever innocence she'd arrived with the first time she'd gone to meet her new partner. And Orsatti viciously, furiously hoped that wouldn't happen to him. He wouldn't let it happen to him, even if it meant profiling his fool head off in that windowless room at Quantico for the rest of his life, until they gave him the watch for the years of uninspired, unimportant service. That would be fine with him.

Scully holstered her gun and gestured to the car.

"Get in," she said, unlocking the door and climbing into the driver's seat. Orsatti cautiously and very, very slowly got inside and buckled his seat belt. Scully started the car, then turned to look at him.

"We're going to the bus station. I expect you to stick close by me unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?"

Orsatti nodded.

"Are you going to try and find out if he bought a ticket?" he asked. Scully scowled at him and shifted into drive.

"And don't ask any questions," she said darkly.

* * *

Scully stared at the bus schedule and tried to see it logically. She had to put herself in Mulder's head, something that was both frightening and dangerous. In order to do so, she had to admit to herself that there was something seriously wrong with Mulder. It was the toughest thing she'd ever done. She closed her eyes and visualized Mulder the last time she'd seen him:

Mulder hadn't shown up for work the morning after their return from California. Scully waited about two hours before calling and wasn't surprised that there was no answer. She made some lame excuse that Skinner would never in a million years buy, and left, heading straight for Mulder's apartment.

Scully didn't even bother knocking, she just barged in, using her key. If he wasn't answering the phone he certainly wasn't going to answer the door. Mulder was sprawled, face down, on the couch, apparently dead to the world, still dressed in the clothes he'd travelled home in. Scully stifled the prickling of fear she felt and moved towards him, relieved to find a bottle of sleeping pills on the coffee table. Scully waited almost four hours before Mulder finally began to stir. She helped him sit up and made him drink about a gallon of water. Fortunately, it hadn't appeared that he was in any distress. He looked at her blearily.

"What time is it?" he asked hoarsely. Scully glanced at the clock.

"Two-thirty," she replied cautiously. Mulder groaned and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Scully."

Scully smiled. At least he was somewhat repentant about missing work.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Yeah..." His gaze followed hers to the bottle of pills and he grinned sheepishly.

"I should stay the hell away from those things. I just took one, which was stupid. You know how these things knock me out."

Scully locked eyes with Mulder. That fear was back again. Mulder was a master at putting one over on her, playing to her sympathies or denying them. Playing her. Mulder looked back calmly, then yawned. That was his signal to Scully for her to leave, but she still sat there, looking at him.

"What's going on, Mulder?" she asked quietly. He leaned back against the couch.

"Nothing. I was just tired. You know, one case after another...from the Bartlett case --" Mulder stopped and made a caustic comment that somehow erased all doubt of trouble from Scully's mind. Mulder was fine; he was just tired. The short temper he'd displayed during the Mott case had been the result of too much stress and not enough sleep. Scully had left him poring through what appeared to be more case files and gone back to the office to do the same. He'd disappeared that night.

Suddenly, Scully saw it. She saw everything now. It all made sense now, it all fit together. The Bartlett case had been harrowing for both of them, but more so for Mulder. He'd started doubting himself during that case and Scully had been so relieved that he'd managed to bounce back that she hadn't questioned how much. What had the Bartlett case cost Mulder? Why hadn't Scully been more insistent that they leave Redding before Mulder lost it and flat-out accused James Mott of kidnapping and killing his daughter? The jumble of words in his notebook came back to her. And began to make sense.

* * *

James Mott loved astronomy. He had a gigantic telescope set up in the family room and he used to spend hours in front of it, delightedly searching the skies. His interest in astronomy had come about in March of 1972, when he'd witnessed the occultation of three (theoretically, since Celaeno is not visible to the naked eye) of the Pleiades by the moon. Ever since, Mott had been fascinated by astronomy. And now, in his notebooks, so had Mulder. Scully remembered their first visit to the Mott home, when Mott had proudly shown off his powerful telescope. He showed Mulder the constellation of Orion and Mulder had shown enough interest to get Mott's mythology lecture. Reading Mulder's notebook was like reading a book in which every other word was deleted. On the flight to Redding, Scully read about Orion, the Hunter, who had fallen in love with the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters, and chased them for seven years.

When James Mott was a child, the younger sister he was watching was struck by lightning and killed. Mott had been temporarily blinded by the incident and had experienced serious emotional problems for some time afterwards, but he had apparently recovered and appeared to be a happily married family man. He was a devoted father and a dedicated worker. The construction company he'd started was growing by leaps and bounds. And he truly appeared distraught at his daughter's disappearance.

But it was Mulder's insistence that James Mott never got over his sister's death and in fact, that James Mott was trying to exorcise his demons by murdering his daughter. Scully frowned and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Orsatti appeared to be asleep. He was a terrible flyer and had taken a pill before they'd boarded. Scully was having an impossible time taking Mulder's intuitive leap. Mulder never leapt like normal people; he would never give an indication of the steps that took him from point A to point Z. If you couldn't follow him, he couldn't explain it. But now it was up to Scully to follow it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hartley cabin  
North of Redding, California**

Mulder dreamed again. This time, the moon was calling to him. Every time he tried to answer, it turned into the cloaked figure of the woman. The woman was hurting him, stabbing him. And Mulder jerked awake once more. He flashed a guilty look around the room, but fortunately, he hadn't made any noise. It was breaking dawn outside and Mulder dressed quietly and went to the door. Doyle's pronouncement that Mulder should leave today had scared him badly. The seventh day...

Dex and Abby May weren't back yet. Their whole disappearance didn't make any sense. Abby was being protected by Doyle and Dex from this Spiker family, so why would Dex risk her safety by taking her out? And why didn't Doyle appear to be concerned?

Something inside of Mulder wanted desperately to know what was going on. He jogged slowly through the clearing, pleased that his leg had healed so rapidly and that his breathing was fairly clear. He glanced nervously back at the cabin. All quiet. Mulder hesitated, then entered the woods where he'd seen the woman just yesterday. The moon shone dimly above him, guiding him...Mulder stopped, looked up.

The moon looked down. The Moon was the last. The Moon will suffer terribly. Mulder cocked his head, perplexed, and tried to get the memory back, but he was again frustrated. A sharp crack off to his right made him dive for cover, but he sheepishly rose to his feet as he realized that it had only been a deer. Mulder and the deer stared at each other for a long moment, then the deer deemed him unworthy and ambled off through the woods. Then Mulder heard voices, raised in anger. He crept silently through the woods towards the voices. And froze.

Abby, still in her light cotton dress, stood in the middle of a clearing, hands on her hips. Dex stood uncomfortably close to her, talking to her, convincing her. A group of incredibly filthy people, men and women, surrounded them. They were holding torches. Mulder crept slowly forward then crouched behind a tree. He could hear Abby's strong voice float through the silence.

"I don't care, Dex, you ain't lyin' to me about this! Today's the seventh day and you got nothin' on me anymore, and we two made a pact and there ain't no Spiker who could break that. Not even you," she added scornfully. Dex stepped back as if he'd been slapped. He lunged forward and grabbed Abby's thin arm tightly.

"You so great, Abby May Hartley, you so great. You're not untouchable, little girl, no matter who or what you are. You will do what we say and you'll do it gladly. You'll do it for all of us who're sick of Spikers killin' us. Ya don't think the one you found is really goin' through with that pact, do ya?" Dex asked. Abby shrank from him, but her eyes blazed furiously. Mulder's sense of foreboding grew exponentially.

"Already did, you stupid old fool," Abby spat at Dex. "I'll be no sacrifice for you." Dex roared an inhuman roar, picked Abby up and threw her. Mulder was on his feet and into the melee before he even remembered moving. Abby crumpled against a tree and lay, motionless. Mulder flung himself furiously at Dex, who was surprised by the attack but recovered quickly. Mulder raked his fingernails over Dex's face and Dex yelled, then backhanded Mulder viciously. Mulder stumbled and fell and then, to his horror, watched as Dex grew and swelled. Into a monster.

The men and women backed away fearfully as Dex changed. Mulder, still on his knees, vomited at the base of a tree as Dex's skin split and curled. Mulder gagged and spat bile as the smell of wet fur stung his nostrils. Dex roared again, his all-yellow eyes glaring balefully at Mulder.

"Come, now!" he roared, his voice foreign and guttural. Mulder wiped his mouth with his sleeve, feeling his rage grow. He stood, swaying slightly, and dimly remembered hearing the shouts of the people behind him. The torches cast an eerie glow as Mulder uncaringly launched himself at the monster that had been the slight, strong man. He grabbed fur and pulled Dex off-balance. Dex wrapped a strong arm around Mulder's neck and lifted him. Mulder's eyes bulged as he struggled ineffectually with Dex's iron grip, yet again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Abby stir. She looked directly into Mulder's eyes, unafraid, helping him.

Something grew in Mulder then, something powerful, something foreign. As Dex shifted his grasp Mulder managed to pull free. He hit the ground lightly on the balls of his feet and crouched warily, waiting for Dex's next move. But there wasn't any next move. Mulder heard Abby May scream and he half-turned, now knowing what the people were shouting about. The people fled into the forest, into the Spikers who had attacked from the rear.

All Mulder saw was a sea of beady yellow eyes moving towards the clearing. Dex saw it, too, and turned to look at Mulder.

"Abby," was all he said. Mulder nodded, whirled around and helped Abby to her feet. The yellow flecks in her eyes were growing brighter and she was getting heavier. She stared at him, eyes terrified.

"I won't turn," she whispered. "They'll have me if I turn."

"What can I do?" Mulder asked breathlessly. Abby watched as Dex hit the Spikers full on. Mulder cringed as he saw the discarded torches, lighting up the night sky as they ignited the dry pine needles and trees.

"The moon," she said. "Get me to the moon."

"Uh...isn't that bad?" he asked uncertainly, automatically accepting what Abby was. She smiled slightly, in pain.

"That's fiction. Harvest moon two nights ago. Back up the road near the lake...there's a bluff. I gotta get there. Please," she begged, clinging to him. He felt her in him, and he nodded.

* * *

The last entry in Mulder's notebook

_ The hunter hunts. Always. Finding and stalking prey, killing it. But he doesn't kill, he hunts, he terrorizes, he never atones. Nothing will lift the veil. He has tried many times to rid himself of the images. The Hunter hunts. He has loved and lost, but can never get that back again. He can't get the love back so he tries other methods. He is the dominator, or he sees the dominator in himself. He dominates, he controls, he manipulates. Merope rejects him so he must dominate her. He fears her, hates her. He hunts her. He rapes her. He was young, in a rage. He rapes her over and over, she screams out, the justice is never meted. He can never be judged, or killed. The child represents the Lost Pleiad. She hates him for her sister and Dionysus turns a blind eye. Dionysus refuses to help him. And when the Moon falls, when Artemis fails her task, when the sisters have been chosen, he will rest with the Moon. He will rest...but_

_One more to go. Alcyone, Electra, Merope and Taygeta. Taygeta is left. Taygeta is the last. IT MUST NOT HAPPEN. He must not succeed. The watchers do not care. The watchers have been there, they know. Mars, Mercury, Venus. They Know. They know he hunts and they think he can't help himself, but he can. The daughters go up to Orion. They don't need to suffer but he needs it for himself. The Moon will suffer terribly. There are two more -- Taygata and the Moon. Artemis failed and she will be punished. And he will Hunt forever. And he will remember Merope but the rest will fade. He will remember...and be unable to stop himself and it will keep happening and keep happening and keep happening...because he will Hunt forever._

Scully tried to quell the tears but couldn't. She got up and quickly made her way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she leaned her forehead against it and cried. She sank down to the floor, arms wrapped around herself, and mourned Mulder's sanity. He had not appeared this delusional when they'd been sent back to Washington. He'd been enormously depressed and withdrawn, but nothing like this. Nothing like this. Scully reached for a tissue, sniffled, and thought. Whatever Mulder had been operating on during the Mott case, whatever insight he'd gathered, had been spewed out in a strange stream of consciousness in his notebook. It had taken Scully quite a while to decipher his rambling, sloppy writing and she hadn't been happy when she'd finished. Now, she had to think like Mulder.

It was fairly obvious that Mulder wasn't being literal in his ramblings, but there was something so...logical about the writing. The question was -- was Mulder talking about James Mott? Scully just didn't know. Orion. Shit. Scully scrambled to her feet, made sure her eyes weren't red, and unlocked the bathroom door. She darted back to her seat and picked up the Mott file, the one she'd halfheartedly brought but hadn't really looked at. Mulder had asked Mott strange questions, mainly about astronomy, Scully remembered. And then he'd gone right for Mott's throat, insisting that Mott come and make a statement. After Mott's statement Mulder had closeted himself in his room for most of the day and then he'd appeared, loudly announcing that James Mott had staged the abduction and killed his daughter. At that point, they were sent home. Mulder had no evidence at all and Scully had been too worried about him to even consider what he was trying to tell her.

There was a good chance that James Mott had not only kidnapped and killed his own daughter, but that he'd also killed the other two girls who had< disappeared from their rooms at night. The daughters go up to Orion. Good God. Who was more delusional -- Mott or Mulder? And the Moon -- Scully shook her head, frustrated. _Christ, Mulder, why didn't you tell me? Where are you? Why haven't you called..._

Scully flipped through the mythology book. It hadn't answered many questions. At the first opportunity, Scully was going to pick up an Edith Hamilton book and find out if Mulder had contacted James Mott.

* * *

**Sacramento, California**

Scully, Orsatti at her heels, went right to the bus station once they'd landed in Sacramento. Scully had fallen asleep on the plane, dreaming about Mulder and James Mott. And Orion. Now, all Scully could see was Mulder's face, imploring her to help him, to save him from whatever sort of madness this was.

"Yes," Scully said in soft triumph. There was a regular bus to Redding. Scully turned to the woman at the front desk and casually flipped open her ID.

"FBI. I need to know if this man --" Scully hated to do it, but she held up Mulder's mug shot -- "bought a ticket to Redding in the last week." The woman stared at the photo, then called over a few other workers, who also stared at it. Nothing. Scully sighed, caught on the horns of a dilemma. What she should do was contact the local FBI office and discuss strategy with the SAC in the hopes that they could locate Mulder before he did any serious damage. Scully cast a glance at Orsatti. Yeah, that was procedure, all right, but it wouldn't ensure Mulder's safety if someone really was after him. What she wanted to do was to go straight to Redding, hide in the woods around James Mott's house, and wait for Mulder to show. But there was no way she would lead Orsatti to Mulder, no matter what nonsense the kid spewed. Scully needed him out of the way. She turned suddenly, taking Orsatti by the arm and leading him away from the curious onlookers.

"You really want to help?" she asked quietly, keeping her voice even. Orsatti, still scared by her, nodded.

"Okay. Mulder's most likely in this general area. You need to find out if he took a bus anywhere."

"But those women --" he began naively. Scully glared at him.

"I show four people a photo and you think that's conclusive evidence that he didn't take the bus? What kind of an FBI agent are you?" she growled. He stiffened, his face reddened. Scully bit back a smile. He was hooked.

"Procedure dictates that we contact the SAC at the local office," he mumbled. Scully nodded.

"I know. And that's what you're going to do. Follow procedure," she replied levelly. He stared at her.

"And what are you going to do?" he asked. What WAS she going to do? Could she actually do this? Could she follow Mulder's ping-ponging thought processes, his damaged mind, based on a three-year partnership that was closer than almost any relationship she'd ever had? Could she take the mixed-up words in Mulder's notebook, marry them to the facts of the Mott case, and figure out why there had so far been no sign of Mulder anywhere near the Mott's house? Most importantly, would she do ANYTHING to stop Mulder from hurting himself further, even if it resulted in the pain she'd caused him earlier when she'd had to shoot him to keep him from killing Krycek? How far was she willing to go with this, when it was obvious that Mulder didn't want her help?

Scully wondered as these thoughts raced through her mind. She remembered how frightened she'd been when she'd seen the introverted behavior Mulder had exhibited during the Mostow case. Patterson had told Scully to let Mulder do his job and she had, but more out of helplessness than out of any great faith she had in Mulder. Was it time to sit back and let things continue, or should she take the bull by the horns and force Mulder back into reality?

She looked at Orsatti, almost fiercely.

"I have some leads to follow," she said. Orsatti started to reply, then stopped. His eyes lowered and he nodded. Scully hid her look of amazement and turned away, turning her back on Orsatti and perhaps on her livelihood.

* * *

**Highway 99**

As Scully drove she replayed the scenes from their investigation of the Mott case in her mind, combining them in odd ways with Mulder's notes. And frighteningly enough, Scully was starting to believe that Mulder was right, that James Mott was a seriously deranged man whose guilt over his sister's death was such that the only way he could ever be free was through sacrifice. The Edith Hamilton book Scully had picked up had given her a more extensive overview of the myth of Orion and of the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters. Much of Mulder's ravings came from the myth of Orion. Orion loved Merope, to whom he was denied marriage by her father, King Oenopion. In a rage, Orion raped her and was cast into a deep sleep and blinded by Dionysus.

Scully shuddered and turned up the heat, applying a little more pressure to the accelerator. She craned her neck and saw the moon, full in the sky, lighting her path. Her path to what, she wondered. She saw the myth in everything now, saw it the way Mulder, still half-cocked after the horror of the Bartlett case, must have seen it. But Scully was still rational enough to be able to take a giant step backwards and see it clinically. Mulder, so intuitive about catching criminals by getting inside their heads and understanding them, didn't have that luxury. But even the small flashes of insight Scully was receiving scared her. She looked hard at men who walked with their daughters, their trusting children, beaming up at their fathers. Scully felt like she had been elected to protect those children in the same way her father had protected her. She'd always felt safe around him, and had taken that feeling of safety for granted. Maybe Sallie Mott didn't have that chance.

It certainly appeared that something was terribly amiss in the Mott household. Jessie had been almost ignored by her father, shunted aside for the light of his life, little Sallie. And Scully had seen enough domestic abuse cases to know that there could be a dark, secret reason for that adoration. Jessie and Sallie were very close and Jessie felt protective of her little sister. _The daughters up to Orion...why not Jessie,_ Scully wondered. _Why only Sallie?_


	10. Chapter 10

**North of Redding**

Mulder drove recklessly, Abby half-conscious beside him. His lungs were hurting him again and he blinked feverish sweat out of his eyes. He nearly sideswiped two trees in his vain attempt to ignore the swelling fire that had already claimed the little bit of forest behind Abby's home. Abby's cold hand found his. He looked at her. She smiled wearily.

"I'm goin' to the Moon?" she whispered. He nodded. She closed her eyes.

"I'm gonna give it back to you," she murmured.

"Give what back to me?" he asked. She whispered something that Mulder didn't catch, then drifted off again. Mulder was terrified. Dex hadn't hurt her enough to kill her. What was wrong with her? If he could save her...another flash. Mulder held onto that one. He remembered being paralyzed, somehow. Paralyzed...unable...to help. He touched Abby's cheek softly. No change. She wasn't changing yet. Off to the left, he could see the fire working its way up to the ridgeline. He shuddered, happy to be as far away from the fire as he possibly could.

Abby had told him that there was a bluff by the lake where the moon was perfectly visible. Mulder sailed past a turn-off and something clicked in his mind. Orion, the Hunter, raping Merope, being punished, being saved, then killed. The Moon's failure. Artemis' shame.

The Moon hiding.

Mulder suddenly swung the wheel hard to the right and the old car bounced up the narrow dirt road. He could see the moon above him, taunting him to find the answers. The cloak of the woman obscured the moon as she spoke to him.

"She is not your salvation. She is not your truth."

Mulder shook his head, unwilling to believe. The moon spoke again.

"Orion had two loves and savaged them both."

With dread, Mulder looked at Abby. He slammed down hard on the brakes and reached out a trembling hand. Abby's cheek was cold as ice. Mulder whimpered, scrambled out of the car and carefully pulled Abby out, laying her on the hard ground. With trembling hands he took off his jacket and laid it over her. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. "Abby?" he whispered. "Baby, come on. Look, we're going to the moon. You'll be okay. You'll be safe."

Her porcelain smooth skin reflected moonlight. She was calm. He took her cold hand in his, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to feel the bonelessness again, the safety and security. But there was no safety or security, only the cold and harsh reality. Cruelty. Orion had two loves and savaged them both. Mulder lay down next to Abby and sobbed for her loss and his.

* * *

Ten miles to Redding. Scully could see the glow of a forest fire off to her left. She began to wonder. If James Mott was completely deranged and had kidnapped his own daughter, staging her disappearance to look like an abduction and somehow brainwashing Jessie, why hadn't the body turned up? If Mott was also responsible for the other kidnappings, why hadn't the other bodies shown up? It's ritualistic, Scully told herself.

Mott is using the girls as substitution for his guilt. He'll use their deaths to pay for his guilt, the guilt he felt over his sister's death. It has to be done according to myth, but Scully had wracked her brain and her references and found nothing that made any sense. Okay, go back to the beginning. Why was James Mott obsessed with Orion? He wasn't. He was obsessed with astronomy. Shortly after his sister's death, Mott had gotten interested in astronomy. He'd seen the occultation...Scully almost swerved off the road. He'd seen the occultation of three of the stars of the Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. Orion had been placed near the the Seven Sisters in the night sky. Orion the Hunter. Daughters up to Orion.

Mott was Orion, and the girls represented the stars that were not occultated. Mott was reliving his first almost orgasmic experience and using it as repentance for the blame he'd gotten and felt for his sister's death.

_Jesus Christ!_ Scully thought, partly in pleasure and partly in horror. There was something intoxicating about putting this together but Scully knew that it was going to take her a long time before she stopped thinking like this. Celaeno, the Lost Pleiad, was hit by lightning according to mythology. James Mott was blinded when his sister had been killed. He was sent back East to a specialist and fully recovered. Orion was blinded by Dionysus and in order to get his sight back he was told to travel East and let the rays of the sun hit his eyes.

Scully shivered. If she were Mulder, still recovering from having Bartlett in his head, and she had been handed this case...she might believe it, too. Hell, it was hard not to be swayed by the coincidences. Mott certainly had. The guilt he'd felt turned into a delusion and Mulder, unguarded, got inside his head.

_Think, Dana. What would Mott need to do next? If he is kidnapping girls to use in his ceremony, he would also need a Moon. Four girls, one Moon. Artemis. His lover. Shit._

* * *

Scully knocked fruitlessly on the Mott's door. Flicking on her flashlight she crept around the side of the house. Lila Mott's car was still in the driveway but James Mott's truck was not. The house was empty, except...Scully heard something. The back door was wide open, banging against the railing. She crept cautiously into the house and the sound became louder. It was sobbing. Scully raced towards the back of the house, heaved the door open, and found Jessie huddled behind her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, sobbing into the sleeve of her nightgown. Scully knelt down next to her and touched her. The girl jerked away.

"Jessie? It's okay. It's Agent Scully. Remember? From before?"

Jessie opened one red-rimmed eye, fixed it on Scully, and nodded slowly. Scully put an arm around her and the girl melted. Jessie threw her arms around Scully and cried into her shoulder.

"Where are your parents?" Scully asked softly. Jessie stiffened and Scully stroked her hair. Jessie finally pulled back, still shaking, but her gaze was clearer. Scully was horrified to see that one of Jessie's eyes was badly bruised.

"Who did this to you?" she demanded. Jessie shrank back, guilty.

"Did your dad hit you?" Scully asked. Jessie nodded slowly and started to cry. Scully's heart went out to the girl. No wonder Mulder had been so upset! Scully hadn't even considered the idea that James Mott beat this girl but Mulder had known almost instantly. And it enraged him.

"Where's your dad, Jessie?"

"I don't know," the girl said tearfully. "I don't know. He left and he took my mom."

_Oh God_, Scully thought as a flash of fear hit her. _Oh no oh God._

"Did he take her, or did she go with him?"

Jessie wiped her face on her sleeve.

"He kept hitting her and she was screaming, and he hit me when I tried to stop him...he said he needed her to finish it. He was saying stuff...I didn't know what any of it meant..."

"Jessie, can you tell me what he said? Don't worry about it making sense. Just tell me what he said," Scully said slowly. Jessie gulped and nodded.

"He said he raped Merope and he got blinded, and that mom was going to kill him. She loved him and the moon went away. I don't remember," Jessie sobbed helplessly. Scully felt cold all over. Mulder was wrong. James Mott didn't become deranged or psychotic after his sister was killed, but before. Orion raped Merope, one of the Seven Sisters. _Oh God_. And Mulder's ravings would lead him right to the Moon, and to Mott.

Scully called 911 and fidgeted nervously until they arrived. Satisfied that Jessie was being cared for, she set off again, towards the Moon.

* * *

Denman watched the moon, which guided him. He'd heard about the fire and knew that Mulder had to be nearby. A riot, the police said. Some stranger abducted a local girl, took off like a bat out of hell into the fire. A car sped past him and he cursed, then smiled in delight as his luck held. It was the woman and she had the same idea. He frowned when she pulled off onto a side road but he kept going. He wasn't going to miss, not this time. And this time he would do the woman as well. He drove into the fire, towards the moon.

* * *

Mulder stumbled up the path, palms raw from falling. His mind assaulted him, taunted him, teased him. The images were staying with him now and they weren't pleasant. He kept one eye on the moon and tried to ignore the terror of the smoke curling in his lungs. The fire had reached the ridge-line and was burning furiously, eating up everything in its wake. _At least I know I'm afraid of fire,_ Mulder thought. _Good to know that now_. He could see the Moon through the smoke. He'd called out for the woman after Abby had died but she had deserted him. He wanted her desperately then, to explain more of the puzzle, but she wouldn't come. He was on his own. A face appeared to him, a terrified face. He froze, suddenly helpless. Who was she? Why did she make him feel such remorse?

"Orion raped Merope," Mulder muttered, surprised to hear his voice. Something was coming back now, flooding into his brain. As he staggered, he spoke.

"The Moon occulted Maia and Asterope. Dionysus blinded Orion and Artemis killed him. She loved him, but she killed him. Why do I give a shit?"

He continued to climb. Brambles clung to his legs as he fought his way up-slope. The smoke was thicker here but he tried to ignore it, ignore the terror rising within him.

"Celaeno was killed...just at the limit of human vision...Celaeno...the Hunter hunts...always..."

And then Mulder reached the top of the bluff. The Moon showered him with her light and he soaked it in. He raised his arms to her, saluting her. And she spoke to him, told him wondrous things. He opened his eyes and looked at her and around her he could see a blaze of starlight. He blinked. The occultation. Alcyone, Electra, Merope and Taygeta sparkled down at him.

"You've killed them," he whispered in horror. "For your own self, to save face, to satisfy your urges."

Even though he had no idea who he was or what made him so afraid, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had been led here, perhaps by something otherworldly, perhaps by his inner voice which appeared to be blinded right now. Blinded, just like Orion.

Mulder turned and raced down the bluff, keeping sight of the Moon above him. Dimly, through the acrid smoke, he could see a figure, digging. A figure digging. In furious anger, Mulder flung himself on the figure, surprising the bigger man and tackling him to the ground. He knocked the shovel out of the man's hands and hit him hard, one, two, three times. The man was still. Mulder stumbled to his feet, tears streaming down his face, only partly due to the smoke. He staggered to the hole the man had been covering up and fell to his knees. The dead eyes of a woman stared back at him, unseeing. 

"Oh Christ..." Mulder whispered. He looked up. The Moon was directly overhead. He got to his feet and, still looking up, went to where Alcyone was. Picking up the shovel, he began to dig furiously. He'd soon unearthed the body of a small child in a nightgown. The body had apparently been dead for awhile but buried this night. Weeping, hardly able to walk, Mulder searched out Electra and dug underneath her. Another body. 

Mulder spun as he heard a crack behind him. The woman stood there, but this time she had rid herself of the cloak. She seemed almost naked to him. She was holding a gun and pointing it at him. Mulder narrowed his eyes. She was so familiar...and then he flashed again. She had shot him, and he had gotten on a plane. He trusted her...he remembered that much. Then the cold shock hit him, staggering him. She was the only person he trusted, and she was trying to kill him. 

She advanced, firing again. Mulder spun out of the way, dropping the shovel, and began running. She shouted at him and ran after him. A shadow fell across the Moon and Mulder skidded to a halt. A man stood there, a man holding a weapon. The man's bloodless mouth turned up into a cruel smile. He fired. Mulder felt the heat of the bullet as it seared through him. He gasped and sat down hard. The man took another step, then stopped, aimed, and fired behind Mulder. Mulder took the opportunity to crawl away, out of the line of fire. He saw the man jerk as a bullet hit him, then saw the man jerk many more times as bullets tore into his flesh. He fell silently to the ground.

Mulder wasn't waiting to find out what happened. The woman had wanted to kill him, the man had wanted to kill him; what was the difference? He had to get Merope and Taygeta out of the ground, away from the Moon. She was jealous of them, she would harm them.

Mulder ignored the searing pain in his shoulder and lunged for the shovel. Something grabbed his arm and he wrenched away, coming face to face with the woman. She was talking to him but he was absolutely terrified. _Kill me,_ he thought. _Because I'm going to free them. I swear it._

Taygeta proved to be Sallie Mott. Mulder stared at the face of the girl for a long moment. She was so peaceful...peaceful like Abby. He blinked back tears. The woman was standing a good many feet away from him, watching him with wide eyes that somehow seemed caring. Mulder was still afraid of her but figured it was his destiny to die out here anyway, and if she was going to let him dig, that was fine with him. He was exhausted, losing blood, tired of having to look the woman back to her spot. He dug fitfully underneath Merope and unearthed an urn. He looked at it blankly. It was an urn. He picked it up with trembling hands and brushed the dirt off the inscription, which read:

SARAH JANE MOTT  
B: 4/1/60 D: 12/21/68

"Merope," Mulder said softly. "Sister."

The woman caught the urn as it fell from his hands. He covered his face with his filthy hands and crumpled onto the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

Scully watched helplessly as Mulder dug. She needed desperately to get him out of here, needed to get that horrible gunshot wound and whatever other injuries he'd collected attended to. But he looked at her as if he didn't even know her, as if she'd come to hurt him. Mulder did not know who he was and all Scully could do was wait until he was through processing this information. Thank God Scully had some idea of what Mulder was doing. Thank God she'd discarded her clinical rationale and gone down that path that scared her so. Mulder dropped the urn and Scully reached forward, catching it. _Sarah Mott_. Good God. James Mott's sister.

Scully looked bleakly at the horrible landscape. The assassin who had almost killed Mulder was dead. Scully had emptied her clip into him. And James Mott was still out cold, lying by the newly-dug grave of his wife, Lila. The other two girls would most likely be identified as the two missing girls, abducted from the safety of their homes in the middle of a cold, dead night. Scully didn't even want to consider the rest of the story, how Mulder got here and why he was staring at her in horror. but something told her that she needed to get Mulder's focus now, that she needed to help him get through whatever ugly process he needed to get through. She stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned, tears still streaming down his face.

"Samantha," he said, his voice cracking. Scully bit her lip. She knelt down next to him and put her arms around him. He stiffened, but didn't resist her.

"I won't hurt you," she said softly. "Tell me what you need."

He knew this woman. Goddamn it, why couldn't he remember anything? The face of the girl he had seen before kept appearing to him. She was laughing, joyous, then deadly frightened. Her name was Samantha. The woman seemed to know who Samantha was, when he'd uttered it. Her whole face had crumpled. Samantha. Sister.

He jerked backwards suddenly, terrified. He was in a house. A dark house, and there was a storm outside. There was a man...he was angry. Mulder was crouched in a corner, watching the man with fearful eyes. The man stalked towards him, drunk. He held something and Mulder's eyes went to it immediately. It was a belt. The man moved, lashing out, hitting him. Mulder screamed.

Scully jerked back as Mulder screamed.

"Mulder, it's okay! It's okay! Nothing's going to happen --"

But he wasn't hearing her. His eyes were glassy, as if he wasn't there, as if he were reliving something. Scully wracked her brain. What the hell was going on? Mulder was flailing as if he was being hit. The small cast flashed into Scully's mind. She sank to her knees, blindly reached out again, and held Mulder for all she was worth.

He was in the house. The house was full of people, all moving with a purpose. They were clustered around him, asking questions, plying him with water. He was sick to his stomach and all he could think about was Samantha. He kept asking where Samantha was but nobody would answer him. The man wouldn't even look at him. He wanted to throw up.

"I won't let you go through this alone, Mulder," Scully whispered in his ear. She turned her head and coughed as the smoke thickened. Fuck it, we'll both die here, she thought. She wasn't going to let go for anything.

He was in a room, sitting in a chair. He did not feel well. He was burning up with fever. But the men didn't care. They questioned him relentlessly, and the man was there, too, staring at him with hard, unloving eyes. Questioning, accusing, threatening. He was scared. They told that he'd done horrible, unforgivable things, that he'd killed Samantha. He'd never kill her, he shouted, never. He looked at the man. The man looked away.

Mulder was thrashing now and even in his weakened state, Scully was having a hard time hanging on. He was shouting, screaming. And what he said made Scully's blood curdle.

"She's my sister! She's my sister! I would never hurt her! You bastards...look at me! Fucking...look at me! Where's Mom? Where's Mom? I wanna see Mom. Please...look at me...please..."

He quieted down somewhat after that, dropping exhaustibly into Scully's lap. His breathing was ragged, uneven. And then he sat up again.

* * *

_I don't want you in there. Get out...get out of my mind...get out_...he pointed the gun.

He formed the clay, pinching it between his fingers, feeling the monster grow. He looked at her, but he didn't see her. He saw the obsession.

He heard her scream his name, asking, beseeching. He couldn't help her anymore. He'd led her here, and abandoned her. He couldn't help her. He was helpless.

The man gave him the cold look again and even though they both knew the Truth, it hurt him. It hurt to have the man treat him the same as he always had, even though he had worked so hard, wrapped his whole life around this one quest. But the man only cared about himself and used his mother as emotional leverage. He felt that familiar pain of failure in his gut again.

She was lying, ghost-still, on the bed and he raged at the people surrounding her. He was enormously relieved and scared shitless. He spiraled down into the darkness.

* * *

Scully could hardly breathe and she wondered how Mulder was managing it. He had shifted and muttered several times and she clung to him, keeping him warm and trying to staunch the bleeding. She had to get him off this mountain. They were going to have to go right through the fire, which was running down the ridge-line and threatening to engulf Trinity County. He was trembling now, crying again. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. She smiled and much to her joy and amazement, he smiled back.

"Scully?" he asked hoarsely. She nodded, helped him sit up.

"Scully...how did you get here?"

Mulder looked around. He saw the graves, saw Mott, saw the assassin. Awareness crept into his eyes.

"Oh shit...Abby..."

Mulder was on his feet. Scully groaned.

"Mulder! Stop!"

She got to her feet and bolted after him as he staggered towards the small road, which was completely engulfed in flames. As she would have predicted, he froze. The flames paralyzed him. Scully reached him and pulled him back.

"They're all dead, Mulder," she said firmly. "Mott, his wife, Sallie...the others..."

Realization dawned and Mulder stared at her.

"You...how do you know?"

"Let's discuss that later, okay?"

Scully tried to lead him back the other way but Mulder saw the assassin's body and stumbled over to it. He looked back at Scully.

"He tried to kill me," he said flatly. "In DC."

"I figured," Scully replied.

"But I thought it was you," he said softly. Scully stared at him.

"What??"

He got up and limped over to her.

"I don't remember much, except leaving my apartment. I knew he'd done it, Scully. And I knew he needed one more, and the Moon...thank God he used his sister...he didn't have to kill another one."

Mulder let Scully help him down the other path, the one not yet consumed by fire. She tried to hurry him along but he was apparently so taken with the notion that he could now remember that he wouldn't shut up.

"I went to the airport...and that's all I remember. He tried to kill me there. It wasn't you, but I thought it was you. You shot me once, right?"

Scully nodded, wishing he wouldn't keep bringing that up.

"It's all jumbled together. I don't know where to put things. You shot me, and I must have been...I'm sorry," he whispered softly. Scully shook her head.

"Don't worry about it. Let's just get out of here, okay?"

Mulder nodded and let Scully lead him down the path.

* * *

Mulder collapsed just before they got to the bottom of the path. Scully quickly checked for vitals. Slow but steady. With all of her strength she hauled him to his feet and half-carried him the rest of the way. The smoke was blinding now and filling Scully's lungs. Debris and ashes swirled around her, making it almost impossible to see. Thank God she'd rented a white car. She heaved Mulder in the passenger seat and got the hell out of there.

Mulder was in and out of consciousness as Scully drove recklessly down the mountain. Fire crews were arriving now, and the deafening sound of helicopters could be heard above the roar of the fire. Scully's vision was blurring and she blinked rapidly, praying that she could stay conscious long enough to get to Redding.

Scully nearly took out a tree and was a little glad to see the lights of a police car behind her. She pulled over gratefully and immediately went into a coughing fit. She vaguely remembered flicking her ID at the cop, and then she checked on Mulder, and then she passed out.

* * *

Cool, clean air. Scully breathed it in. It felt wonderful. She opened her eyes, blinking to focus. She sighed. In the hospital, again. A nurse's face swam into focus. She smiled.

"How are we, Miss Scully?" she asked pleasantly. Scully pulled at the oxygen mask that covered her mouth. The nurse frowned, but Scully ignored her. She sat up, surprised to find herself still in the ER and not in a room. _Good sign_, she thought.

"Much better, thanks," she replied, her voice still a little hoarse. The nurse nodded.

"The doctor debated keeping you but there doesn't appear to be any smoke damage, so he just wants you to rest."

"Agent Mulder..." Scully said anxiously. The nurse smiled at her again, that soothing, sickening smile that made Scully's skin crawl.

"I'll just check on him, okay?" she said. Scully shook her head and sat up. 

"I'll just go with you," she said forcefully. The nurse's eyes narrowed and she put a firm hand on Scully's shoulder.

"Not on my watch," she said severely. "You rest, I'll go check on Mr. Mulder, and I'll bring you some food."

Scully smiled then, absurdly happy to be mother-henned. She glanced at the nurse's name-tag.

"Thanks, Sharon," she said quietly. Sharon smiled and left silently. Scully contemplated defying Sharon and going in search of some information and a really tall glass of water, but while she was considering it, she fell asleep again.

Sharon woke her and handed her a donut. Scully looked at her suspiciously. Sharon shrugged.

"You looked hungry. Here." Scully drank almost a gallon of water and munched her donut as Sharon sat next to her.

"Mr. Mulder's out of surgery. He's lost a lot of blood and his lungs were already weakened by pneumonia...he's going to be with us for awhile."  
Scully nodded, wondering how to bring up the latest subject. _Just dive in, Dana._

"Has he...said anything?" she asked carefully. Sharon shook her head.

"He's been out most of the day. We're keeping him pretty heavily sedated. He was...very upset when we brought him in."

Scully stared at her, donut forgotten.

"He was conscious?" she asked.

"In and out. Mostly out, but he must have been quite startled when he came to and a team of doctors was standing over him."

Scully closed her eyes, relieved that Sharon didn't think Mulder's behavior odd. Was it odd? Scully finished her donut.

"I need to see him," she said quietly. To her credit, Sharon only nodded matter-of-factly.

"He's in ICU. I'll take you up," she said. Scully loved Sharon.


	12. Chapter 12

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending upon how one looked at the situation, Mulder had definitely looked worse. Scully sat next to him and took his hand. She could see his eyelids flickering and was glad that he wasn't completely sedated. She glanced at the chart and raised an eyebrow. The dosage would be perfectly adequate for anyone else. How was it that Mulder could sleep for two days on one sleeping pill, but an elephant's dose of morphine did nothing for him? He groaned, and Scully leaned over him.

"Mulder?" she said softly. He shifted restlessly, then opened his eyes. And panicked. Scully had never seen him in this much terror. He screamed at her, pulled away from her, threatened to dislodge the various tubings from his arms. Scully had enough presence of mind to get out of his sight-line and to pay attention to what he was screaming. It tore her heart out.

"...killed her...!" he was shouting, "...couldn't...kill her! Why?? Dad?? Why?? Abby...gave it back...take it...I don't want it...Dad?? Why??"

Mulder collapsed, sobbing, as a team of nurses rushed in and put him back together. Scully, backed against a wall, just stared at him in horror. Who was Abby? What had she taken away? The nurses finally got Mulder sedated and Scully winced as they put the restraints on his wrists. A tall doctor with a kind face swooped in and checked Mulder. He took the chart, scribbled something, and turned away to talk to a nurse. Scully edged over and glanced at the chart.

"Miss!"

Scully turned. The doctor was giving her a severe look.

"I'm his partner," she said quietly. "I'm a medical doctor."

The doctor's eyes softened. He took Scully by the arm and led her away from Mulder's bedside.

"I've upped the morphine dosage. If that doesn't work, we'll put him on something stronger," he said. Scully closed her eyes. The doctor touched her arm and Scully looked at him.

"It's okay," he said. "He came out of it too fast. He was just disoriented."

_Oh doctor, if only you knew,_ Scully thought. But he really was trying to help.

"Thanks," she said. And then something occurred to her. She wanted to get out of here, out of this hospital and out of Redding.

"How soon can he be transferred?" she asked. The doctor looked surprised.

"He can be released in a week or so," he said, unsure. Scully shook her head.

"I'd rather take him back to Washington, where he can be in...somewhat familiar surroundings," she said. The doctor's mouth quirked.

"He in the hospital a lot?" he asked. Scully nodded.

"Yes, but the point is that I'd rather take him home when he's still sedated," she said, not realizing what she was admitting. The doctor smiled then, and turned to look at Mulder, who was once again still. He glanced back at Scully.

"Two days," he said. Scully smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

* * *

**Washington DC**

Mulder was recovering nicely. He'd had a minor setback, a lung infection, but he was responding well to treatment. He was still somewhat withdrawn, but always happy to see Scully.

She sat in the basement office, brooding. Mulder couldn't really tell her much about what had happened. As he'd said on the mountain, things were all jumbled together. He was starting to sort his mind out, but there were still gaps and some things that he thought had happened recently had happened years ago. He told Scully not to worry, that it would eventually all come back, but a part of Scully was terrified that whatever horror he kept reliving might cripple him. She felt closer to Mulder than ever before. She'd identified with him when she'd started to understand his notes and she felt drawn, somehow, towards an attempt to figure out what was still missing.

She still didn't know who Abby was, and Mulder wouldn't tell her. His eyes would cloud over and he'd look away, then find some way to change the subject. He still didn't know what had brought his memory back in a flood. He still didn't know what had drawn him to the mountain. That, Scully thought, was the key. Mulder's memory worked in strange and unusual ways, and it had most definitely been fucked up royally by the repressed memories of Sam's abduction.

Operating from that as a starting point, Scully started piecing together the evidence.

* * *

Skinner was absurdly relieved that Fox Mulder had been found, and relatively in one piece. The two men he'd killed had disappeared from the morgue. Vanished, without a trace. As had Mulder's arrest report. While Skinner had every reason to mistrust these things, he also had enough presence of mind to be grateful. Sure, it would come back one day, somebody would need something and then he'd have to pay, even though he hadn't condoned them in the first place. But Skinner was happy to pay, happy to have Mulder and Scully back in the fold.

"Sir?"

Skinner glanced up and inadvertently smiled as Dana Scully hovered in his doorway. She still looked a little drawn, a little worried, but that was to be expected. She'd come through with flying colors on this one and had scared the shit out of Will Orsatti, scared him right back into the basement at Quantico and out of field work. Skinner hadn't liked the little shit and was immensely proud of Scully.

"What can I do for you, Agent Scully?"

She smiled and took a seat.

"How's Agent Mulder today?" Skinner queried.

"Much better, Sir. The infection set him back a bit, but he should be out in a few days." Scully hesitated.

"I'm sure he'd like to see you, Sir," she said equitably. Skinner laughed.

"I'm sure he would," he commented wryly. Scully folded her hands in her lap and looked down. Skinner frowned.

"What is it?" he asked softly. Scully looked back up at him.

"I --" she hesitated again. "-- I need...I need...to do some research, Sir." Skinner sat back in his chair, suddenly worried.

"What kind of research?"

"When Agent Mulder's sister was...taken...he was interviewed by the FBI," Scully said slowly. Skinner nodded.

"I need to see that report."

Skinner stared at her, shocked.

"May I ask why?" he asked. Scully twisted her hands in her lap, looked down again.

"I think that it may shed some light on..." Scully's voice trailed off and Skinner got the impression that she hadn't thought up a good enough lie yet. Skinner had been keeping pretty close tabs on Mulder and had absolutely no idea where Scully was coming from. Mulder had had a few nightmares in the hospital but he'd always been prone to nightmares. To tell the truth, Skinner had been pretty worried about Scully when he'd first seen her upon her return. She was shifty, nervous, jumpy. And unbelievably protective of Mulder. Not that this was news, it was just so...complete. Different somehow. And now...

"Are you sure you want to dig into this?" he asked her. She still didn't look at him.

"I think I have to, Sir," she replied evenly. Skinner sighed. He'd never really worried about Scully before, not in this way. At the beginning, when he'd first been made Assistant Director, he worried that she wasn't strong enough, that she'd crack under the pressure. But she just kept getting stronger, more determined. She'd never shown any signs of obsessiveness before, however, and that was plainly what Skinner saw here.

"Is this for Mulder, or for yourself?" he asked. Scully finally looked at him, surprised.

"For both of us, I suppose. Something happened to him in California, Sir, something...brought back memories. And..." her voice faded again.

"I just wanted to make sure, Scully. You had a rough time of it out there, too. I don't want to see you lose your objectivity."

Scully smiled then.

"I think I already have, Sir," she said. He grinned.

"Not completely. Not yet."

He stood and she followed suit.

"None of those reports are computerized, so make sure you wear some old clothes when you go through the files," he said. Scully nodded crisply.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

She turned on her heel and left. Skinner sat back down and wondered if he'd ever know what Scully was looking for.

* * *

Mulder stared at the ceiling in frustration. He was on oxygen again, which made it impossible to do anything else. When he was a kid and had trouble sleeping, he used to find patterns in the ceiling, but this was a dull, boring, painted ceiling. No patterns there. His sigh echoed eerily in the mask and he closed his eyes, hoping to sleep. No good. He opened his eyes again and thought about Abby, then he wondered why he kept thinking about her. The pact they had made...Mulder still hadn't been able to work much of it out. And he was pretty sure that taking her to the moon had killed her. But she'd asked him, begged him...she wanted to die.

And Mulder felt that it was his fault. Dex had betrayed her, that much was certain. Dex was responsible for the Spiker attack, for Doyle's broken, half-changed body. For his own death. Maybe it was just too much, Mulder thought. Dex had cracked. And Abby had gone to the Moon, the same Moon that had claimed the lives of Lila, Sallie and the other two girls. Orion hadn't died, he'd survived, but he would be spending the rest of his life in an institution for the criminally insane. The fear that James Mott had killed his sister Sarah was unfounded. The fear that he'd raped her...that was another story. Orion admitted to raping Merope. James Mott admitted nothing.

Mulder had been convinced that James Mott had coldly, calculatingly killed his daughter. And that had enraged him. Snatches of memories assaulted him; his father, with the same attitude, yelling at him, ignoring him. Mulder couldn't place it and he wracked his brain every time that memory floated to the surface. He didn't remember it from before. Not at all. Mulder tossed it aside and went back to James Mott. The abduction HAD been staged but Mulder was wrong, at least he remembered being wrong in one of his last lucid moments. The abduction was ritualistic and Sallie had been sent to Orion. The M.O. changes but the signature stays the same.

Mulder shuddered when he thought about the talk he'd had with Scully over this case. Scully had laid all of this out for him, everything he'd researched, thought, deduced and concluded. Only he'd never told her any of it. He'd been too...disconnected. But somehow she'd managed to figure it out and come after him. And save him again. James Mott, who Mulder had seen as a remorseless killer, was more fucked-up and dangerous than Mulder had ever imagined. This was no Luther Lee Boggs; Mott was driven to complete his tasks and something inside of Mulder refused to believe that. For one shining moment, Mulder had been the skeptic. And it nearly destroyed him.

He wished Scully would come. She usually visited him two or three times a day and he really needed some contact now. He closed his eyes again, suddenly feeling vulnerable, small. Like a child. 

It was coming back on him again, with a vengeful force. He tried to block it out but began shaking, shivering. Remembering.

* * *

Scully sat back on her heels, perplexed. She'd been rooting around in the old, dusty files for hours and couldn't find the report. His father probably made it disappear, she thought darkly. But something told her that nobody had thought this important, that everything had been done by the book and that Mulder's FBI interview was in here somewhere.

Scully got to her feet, stretched and took a sip of her coffee. She looked around the cluttered room, then sighed and headed for the last cabinet.

Bingo. Scully stared at the folder, almost afraid to hope. She'd already read the file three times and while there were no names associated with it, there was little doubt in her mind that this was Mulder's file. And it made her sick.

When Samantha disappeared, Bill Mulder flew into a blind rage. He used all of his clout and the Mulder household was crawling with various government men asking their questions. And Fox Mulder had been at the center of the storm. Scully recognized Bill Mulder, somehow. She didn't want to question the leaps her mind made now, didn't want that to go away. She needed it. She needed to know, as much or more than Mulder even needed to know. It was frightening and exhilarating. And she attacked the file with everything she had.

Mulder didn't remember much after Samantha's abduction. His memories wavered between a vague hospital visit and weeks of silence in the Mulder home. He had no recollection, or so Scully thought, of the two solid weeks of questioning, intimidating, accusing that Mulder had been subject to. And Bill Mulder spearheaded the vicious assault on his son. And he relished it.

Heartsick, Scully pushed the file away. She knew that it was Mulder's, now. And she also knew that Mulder's nightmares, these strange memories that she had been privy to, stemmed directly from these files. Maybe the Mott case had triggered it somehow; Mulder's leaps from abduction to Orion were too abrupt even for Mulder. Did Mulder harbor the fear that he HAD killed Samantha, based on what had happened to him, those memories that were so safely locked away? Or did he think...

How could one man be so cruel? No wonder Mulder had been hospitalized after Samantha had disappeared. No wonder he had been comatose, unresponsive, withdrawn. No wonder he'd reacted exactly like he had in Redding. Scully put her head in her hands, grief-stricken for her partner. She couldn't imagine the weight this placed on him. How did he even function? Part of Scully knew the answer to that. He functioned by locking it away and it only returned at night, when he was helpless. But now, with his memories returning in blocks...now he didn't have that control anymore. Scully's phone rang and she answered it automatically.

"Scully," she said briskly. She sat up, automatically rigid.

"Scully?" the faint, weak voice said.

"Mulder?" she asked incredulously. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Is Abby dead?" he asked. Scully frowned.

"Abby...yes, Mulder. Yes. She's dead," Scully replied, hoping she was doing the right thing. Mulder sighed, resigned.

"I need...to give it back to her..."

Oh God. Oh shit.

"Mulder? Is there someone there with you?"

Silence. Scully stood, tucking the file under her arm, and strode out of the office and down the hall, searching with one hand for her car keys.

"Mulder? Is someone there with you?" she repeated as she sailed out of the Bureau and to her car.

"Nobody's here..."

Shit.

"Did you take the oxygen mask off, Mulder?" she asked. His answer was slow in coming, as if he was having a hard time processing Scully's questions.

"No...they did. This morning. Scully --"

"I'm on my way, Mulder. Can you call a nurse?" Scully pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the street.  
"I can't..."

Dammit.

"Mulder, I want someone to be there with you until I get there," she said.

"Scully, I don't know where to put things anymore," he said quietly. 

"I know, Mulder."

"I don't trust anyone, Scully."

Scully sighed, pulled into the hospital parking lot. "I know, Mulder. Look, I'll be there in a few minutes. Can you at least stay on the phone with me?"

Click.

"Shit," Scully muttered viciously. 

She was out of the car before she had locked the brake. Tossing her phone aside, she jumped out of the car and headed into the hospital, straight up to Mulder's room. Which was empty.

Scully stared blankly at the empty bed and lunged at a passing nurse.

"Fox Mulder. Where is he?" she asked desperately. The nurse looked stunned and poked her head into Mulder's empty room.

"He was here..."

Scully turned and started to run down the corridor. Where would Mulder go? Was he having a breakdown, or was he finally putting everything together? Where would Mulder feel safe? Where would she feel safe?

Scully altered course and nearly took out an intern. Eyes wide, she raced down the stairs, praying that she was right.


	13. Chapter 13

The soothing lights lit the chapel, the benevolent Virgin Mary smiled down as Scully burst in. It was dim in here, and looked empty. Scully crept slowly through the pews.

"Mulder?" she whispered. Nothing. Dammit. She was wrong. Where WAS he? She started to go, then hesitated and continued her search.

"Mulder? Are you in here?"

Scully whirled as she heard a scratching noise. A wave of relief washed over her. Mulder was huddled in the corner, bloodshot eyes staring at her. She approached him slowly, searching for any recognition in his eyes.

"Mulder?" she said softly. She crouched in front of him. He didn't shrink away from her.

"Mulder, it's Scully. You called me. Remember?"

He nodded slowly, closed his eyes and sighed. She tentatively reached out and took his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away.

"What's wrong, Mulder?" she asked, desperate to make some sense of this.

"Is my father dead?" he asked in a small voice. Oh God.

"Yes, Mulder, he is."

Mulder nodded as if that made perfect sense.

"Did he kill my sister?" Mulder asked, voice quavering. Scully carefully sat down next to him and took in the sheen of sweat on his too-pale skin. Scully slowly took her jacket off and placed it around his shoulders.

"I don't know," she said honestly. She wouldn't lie to him, she decided. If he needed to know the hell his father had put him through, she would tell him. He deserved to have all the pieces of his life. He looked at her.

"Did I kill her?" he asked softly. Scully shut her eyes and leaned back against the wall. Did he? A nearly comatose twelve-year-old boy? Could she tell him, unequivocally, that he hadn't killed Samantha? _Yes_, her voice told her. _Yes, you can. All of the doubts you've had since this whole mess began have been shunted aside, resolved_. Scully thought about how she'd tracked Mulder, how she'd found him on that mountain and never once considered him the kind of monster he was identifying with. Her trust was complete.

"No," she told him. He looked at her for a long moment, shivering. Then he nodded.

"I thought I did, for awhile. I remember..." he stopped. Scully wasn't sure she wanted to know what he remembered. She found herself handing him the file.

"This is what you're trying to remember, Mulder. I don't understand why you're trying to remember it now, or why you never did before...but you deserve to see this." Mulder took it, hands shaking, and flipped it open. He read the whole thing, a mask across his face. When he was finished he looked at Scully.

"I never remembered any of this," he said quietly. "But Abby gave it back to me. She took everything, all the things I couldn't remember, and then when she died she gave them back."

"I don't understand," Scully said cautiously. He sighed, pulled Scully's jacket around him.

"In multiple personality disorder, the first personality is usually a split personality, created because the abused child can't handle the abuse, the trauma. The trauma splits off from the core and forms a new personality, one that will hold the pain so that the core can survive. When someone with MPD is integrating the personality, the trauma that created the disorder is abreacted, relived. And the first personality to go is that childlike personality. Once the trauma is abreacted, the personality is gone, integrated into the core, so that the core retains those memories."

Mulder's eyes were starting to clear somewhat as he talked. Scully just stared, afraid.

"Somehow, Abby was able to take all of that from me...I saw it happen...and then give it back. Only she gave it back all at once and I can't...it's overwhelming. It's too much, Scully," he said, his voice cracking. He looked down at the file.

"But this helps, somewhat. I couldn't remember...I still don't really remember what happened. But I was remembering the pain...the betrayal. And I had to get out of that room...they questioned me in the hospital, did you know that?"

Scully, still not trusting her voice, shook her head.

"One day, before they came, my mother came to see me. And she took me to the chapel. They didn't question me that day. My mother kept me there, in the darkness, holding me. And they didn't come."

"Oh, Mulder," Scully whispered. He smiled a twisted smile.

"I remembered that when I got here. And things started falling into place..."

"Why did you ask me if you had killed your sister?" Scully asked. Mulder shrugged.

"Because I knew you'd tell me the truth," he said simply. She stared at him.

"Mulder, I thought you were...I thought you had..." she couldn't finish. He nodded.

"Scully, you are the only one I trust."

Scully squeezed his hand. She'd never been so relieved before.

"When you came in here...I remembered meeting you for the first time. I remember you coming into my office, challenging me from the beginning. I could...put you where you belonged."

"And now?" Scully was almost afraid to ask. Mulder sighed, looking incredibly weak. His voice was going.

"I still don't know...everything. The Mott case, on top of the Bartlett case...and then that man..." Scully nodded in sympathy.

"And the daughters went up to Orion," she said softly. "And Samantha..." Scully saw it then. Samantha would always be the key, as would the abuse Mulder suffered at the hands of his father and the neglect he suffered at the hands of his mother. But Mulder would survive through that. He seemed to need it. It drove him. Scully looked at him. He was slumped against the wall, completely drained. She stood and pulled him to his feet.

"You're feverish again," she observed. "I suspect your release has been delayed a bit."

"Story of my life," Mulder said hollowly. Scully wondered if the haunted look would ever leave him. She suspected that one day, maybe not too far into the future, he'd be able to shunt it aside again. The pain would once again be compartmentalized and Mulder would return to what, for Mulder, was normal. But both of them would always know it was there. And they would have to deal with that.

* * *

Mulder was discharged a week later. He had suffered a relapse of his lung infection on his jaunt through the hospital and had been a model patient afterwards. Scully sat in the basement office, flipping through some of the more ridiculous cases that had come across Mulder's desk since he'd been away. She sighed. Another flukeman. She shoved that file to the bottom of the pile. Mulder didn't need to grapple with monsters in sewers just yet.

"You look awfully comfortable in my chair."

Scully looked up, a welcoming smile on her face. Mulder, a bit thinner and paler, was nevertheless a sight for sore eyes.

"Somebody had to water the plants," she remarked. Mulder glanced at the long-dead ficus tree in the corner.

"Uh...yeah. Thanks," he said caustically. 

"You came back too soon, Mulder. You still look tired," Scully said. He grinned at her.

"I got to the eleven billionth level on Doom. What choice did I have?" Mulder sat down and rubbed a hand over his face. The haunted look was still there, but it was receding. Scully tried to ignore it and wait for everything to return to normal. But it never would. Scully had lived in the depths of Mulder's pain and she'd never forget that. But while she'd been concerned that she would forever see him as weak, as damaged, just the opposite had occurred. Mulder might bend under the pressure, but he'd never break. He would always be there, searching. Mulder and the cockroaches, at the end of the world.

That made Scully smile and actually get up and make him a cup of coffee. He deserved that much.

* * *

The wraith was satisfied. Denman had been a fool, going after the target. And he'd paid the ultimate price. Of course, the problem with ridding the world of Denman's body had been the deal with the Smoking Man. Fox Mulder was to be exonerated of all charges, freed into the world again. The two dead men never existed. Fox Mulder had never been arrested. And because of his cooperation in this matter, the wraith was not disciplined for his...rebellious acts.

He would watch and wait, taking orders from both sides. Two sides, rather. There were more than two. And the Consortium wouldn't be giving him any orders for a long while, not until they deemed him trustworthy once more.

The Others...they would trust him. He had almost done them a favor. If they wanted Fox Mulder eradicated, though, they would have to look elsewhere. Mulder had proven impossible to erase and the wraith was almost starting to like the lad. Maybe there was a brief contact in their future...and maybe not.

The wraith smiled. He'd reconciled his actions and he was pleased.

The Hunter hunts. Always.


End file.
